The Professor's Journey
by AlphaEph19
Summary: When the barrier overloads during the Hokage's fight with Orochimaru, he ends up at Hogwarts with no idea how to get back home.  Will the Hokage be able to help Harry Potter save the wizarding world from TWO immortal, snake-obsessed villains?  HP, Year 2
1. Prologue: A Fight Interrupted

**A/N:** This story grew from a plot bunny that would not go away. I wanted to sleep, but my muse wouldn't let me until I wrote the prologue. So here it is. Enjoy!

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Naruto or Harry Potter, and I especially don't own the dangerous combination of the two.

**Prologue**

Konoha was facing its greatest trial in over twelve years, since the attack of the Kyuubi. The village echoed with the sounds of battle, as the defenders fought valiantly against the overwhelming combined forces of Otogakure and Sunagakure.

The Chunin Exams were forgotten, and genin fought alongside jonin to defend Konoha. Huge snakes rampaged unchecked through the village, terrorizing the civilians trying desperately to escape. On a tiled roof near the stadium, separated from the raging battle by a box-like barrier shining with an unholy light, stood the Hokage and his former student.

ANBU swarmed around the barrier frantically, like moths around a flame, but they were helpless to stop the scene playing out inside. The four Oto shinobi maintaining the violet barrier had placed a secondary barrier to protect themselves, and it seemed impervious to all attempts to breach it.

Sarutobi Hiruzen knew his forces were outnumbered and outmatched, and his heart wept for Konoha. But he couldn't help his brave warriors; he had his own battle to fight. He looked across the roof at Orochimaru, and wondered how it had come to this.

"You have no idea how long I've waited for this, old man," Orochimaru crowed. "Finally, I have my revenge!"

"I pity you," Hiruzen said softly, "but that changes nothing. I should have killed you years ago, when we first discovered how far you'd fallen."

Orochimaru's features twisted with rage and hatred.

"You left it too late, _sensei!"_ He spat out the word like a curse. "And now your precious Konoha will pay the price."

"Not as long as I have breath in my body."

Hiruzen brandished his staff, the alternate form of Enma the Monkey King, and waited for Orochimaru to attack.

Meanwhile, a weary group of genin entered Konoha at top speed, taking care to avoid the areas where the fighting was thickest. They all looked the worse for wear, but the worst off were three genin wearing Sunagakure headbands. They stayed in the center of the formation, clearly prisoners of the five Konoha genin around them.

"I still don't see why we're doing this," Kankuro grumbled. "Our comrades are still fighting, and even though we lost we shouldn't be helping the enemy."

"Quiet," Gaara ordered. Though he was by far the most injured of the eight, his voice still carried a tone of command. "I've given our parole, which means we won't offer any resistance. Try anything, and I'll kill you myself."

"Good decision," Sasuke noted dryly. "It would be a shame if we had to kill you. The three of you are more valuable as hostages."

Naruto, who was last in the formation, laughed loudly.

"Won't the Old Man be proud of us! The Kazekage will order his ninja to stand down, since we captured his kids."

"Don't be so sure," Temari commented wryly. "He isn't exactly the type to give up an advantage out of paternal love. Otherwise Gaara wouldn't have Shikaku to begin with."

Naruto ground his teeth in anger.

"When we meet that guy, I'm going to smash his face in! How could he do that to his own son? It's despicable!"

Gaara's face showed utter consternation. He was still struggling to comprehend this strange boy, who understood his pain yet never lost his faith in others. Gaara thought he'd never been so happy to be defeated. But then, he'd never been defeated before, so he had no basis for comparison.

"Slow down, Naruto," Shikamaru drawled. "You're getting ahead of yourself. We still need to report to the Hokage, before we do any face-smashing."

"Right!" said Naruto. "Let's get to the Old Man in time to get back in the fight!"

The eight young shinobi forged deeper into Konoha, using Shino's bugs as advance scouts to avoid any sizable fights. Before long they came to the roof where ANBU were congregating.

"What's that purple light?" Sakura asked. No one answered, but they all pushed more speed into their tired legs.

"I've got a bad feeling about this…" Shikamaru muttered to himself.

Shino's bugs identified the ANBU in charge, a tall man wearing a lion face mask. He was standing at ground level, relaying messages to runners while watching the violet light intently.

Naruto stepped forward, and tapped him on the shoulder.

"Excuse me, ANBU-san," he said brightly.

The ANBU whirled around, startling Naruto into taking a step back. He must have been extremely distracted, if he hadn't noticed Naruto's approach.

"What is it?" he barked gruffly. "And why aren't you helping with the evacuation?"

This was his big moment, and Naruto couldn't resist a bit of showmanship. He gestured to the three Suna genin with a flourish. Sasuke rolled his eyes in the background.

"Allow me to present the children of the Kazekage. They surrender, and promise to play nicely."

The ANBU's mask covered his expression of surprise, but it was clear from his silence that he was stunned.

"What? How did you…" he shook his head, and regained his composure. "Good work, you five. Just keep them secure, for now. We have bigger things to worry about."

"Like that barrier?" Shikamaru asked shrewdly.

The ANBU nodded once, tightly.

"What happened, sir?" asked Shino.

"That's what we're trying to find out," the ANBU replied, and his voice was filled with tension and fear. "But we know the Kazekage was a fake. It was Orochimaru, a missing-nin who left the village years ago. Some Oto shinobi set up a barrier sealing him and the Hokage from the rest of us. Anyone who touches the barrier catches fire, and we haven't found a way in yet."

Gaara spoke up, his raspy voice drawing everyone's attention despite the low tone.

"My father must be dead," Gaara said. "He would never have willingly missed the opportunity to see Konoha fall."

"But if that's true," Kankuro responded, a horrified expression on his face, "then we were betrayed!"

The ANBU captain stepped forward, intent.

"Can you tell your warriors that? They know your faces, they'll trust you. If Suna throws down arms, we can deal with the Oto trash ourselves."

"We'll leave now," Temari agreed. "Maybe we can save a few of our own from this fool's errand."

"HOLD IT!" Naruto shouted. Everyone looked at him in surprise.

"The Hokage is sealed inside that barrier? We have to help him!"

"There's nothing we can do!" Sasuke said heatedly. "All these ANBU can't get in, we'll just be in the way."

The ANBU captain nodded agreement.

"The best thing you can do is protect the Kazekage's children while they rally Suna's forces."

"No," Naruto declared, "I have to help the old man!"

Sakura reached out with a restraining arm, but Naruto spun away and raced to the rooftop.

"Let him go," Shikamaru said, seeing Sakura about to follow. "We don't have any time to waste, not if we want Suna to surrender before any more die."

"Besides," Gaara added quietly, "Naruto may just be able to do what your men can't. I was no match for him, after all. Come on, there's no time to lose. We have a debt to repay."

The seven genin left the area, this time with Gaara and his siblings in the lead. Gaara spared one last glance at the rooftop, where the barrier shone like a beacon in the fading twilight.

"Good luck, Naruto."

Naruto gained the rooftop, looking on the scene with increasing horror. Through the translucent barrier, he could see the old man squaring off against his opponent. The Hokage was wearing armor and wielding a staff. Naruto had never seen him in fighting gear before, and it made the scene even more surreal. The barrier let no sound through, but Naruto could see the Hokage was not doing well.

Then, to Naruto's unbelieving eyes, Orochimaru summoned two more figures to his side. The first had long, black hair down to his shoulders, while the other had an unruly shock of white hair. Both moved with a dangerous grace, and the Hokage struggled to avoid their coordinated attacks.

Naruto saw red. He clenched his hands so tightly that his nails drew blood. The Old Man was in there alone, and Naruto was unable to do anything. The closest thing he had to a father was going to die, while he just watched.

No. It wouldn't end like this! He wouldn't let it! Naruto surrendered to the red-hot rage, letting it fill him with power.

Naruto was beyond noticing, but everyone else on the rooftop reeled from the explosion of killing intent. They looked at the blond genin, who was now covered with red, roiling chakra. Two giant tails waved far over his head, made of the same angry chakra.

He charged the barrier with a roar, and impacted the outer wall with a crash that seemed to shake the very earth. ANBU were blown off by the force of the explosion, most knocked unconscious by the blast.

The outer barrier disappeared like a popped soap bubble. The four Oto shinobi were incinerated by the wave of chakra, turning into piles of dust at the four corners of the barrier. Naruto's wave of red chakra fused with the violet light from the barrier, creating a hellish glow that became completely opaque. The barrier lost its box-like shape, warping violently and shooting out random spikes.

The light grew brighter, and still brighter, until it became a blinding white glare impossible to look upon. Without warning, the barrier collapsed in on itself. Then… nothing. Silence reigned, and the rooftop was empty save for Naruto, who lay unconscious on the orange tiles.

It was a few hours before the fighting finally died down. When the Suna shinobi learned of Otogakure's betrayal, they surrendered immediately. Without the help of Suna's elite force, Otogakure's less disciplined fighters lost confidence. Once news of Orochimaru's defeat reached the front lines, they lost the rest of their will to fight. At the end of a long day Konoha remained whole, bloodied but unbroken.

It was a bitter victory, however. Konoha was a wreck, and the death toll was high. At the top of the list was the Third Hokage, who perished with Orochimaru when the barrier imploded. Even hardened veterans wept openly, mourning the loss of their beloved leader.

Once the injured were cared for, and the walls rebuilt, they would hold the funeral. Together the shinobi of Konoha would honor the memory of Sarutobi Hiruzen, for it was all that was left of him. The barrier had imploded with such force that he left no corpse behind; though ANBU scoured the rooftop for hours, there was not so much as a speck of dust to mark his passing.


	2. The Hokage Gets a Job

**A/N:** I'm trying to keep this story as tight as possible. All changes to HP Chamber of Secrets canon should be direct results of the Hokage and Orochimaru entering the picture. Of course, those changes will completely transform the plot line, but please call me on any canon errors that you think might not be intentional, or if anyone seems out of character.

Now back to business. Hokage meets Hogsmeade, and merry hell ensues.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter or Naruto.

**Chapter 1: The Hokage Gets a Job**

Everything was calm and peaceful in Hogsmeade village. The students were home for the summer holidays, giving the shopkeepers and locals a little room to breathe. Most of the shops were closed, though a few kept reduced summer hours. The only place that seemed unaffected by the lack of students was the Hog's Head, whose normal crowd generally didn't include students anyway.

If school had been in session, the unconscious man materializing in the middle of the street would not have gone unnoticed. As it was, the old man—he was sixty if he was a day—remained in the street for almost an hour without attracting any attention. He looked very out of place amid the quaint cottages and shops, with his sword, close-fitting black armor, and skull-cap.

At three in the afternoon, a shabby-looking wizard in tattered robes came out of the Hog's Head. He raised a hand to shade his eyes from the afternoon sun, and swayed in a way that suggested he'd had a few tumblers of firewhiskey. When he saw the unconscious form in the road, his jaw dropped.

He hurried to the man's side, weaving a little bit before reaching him. He held his finger against the man's neck, and nodded to himself when he felt a pulse.

"Still alive, 'sgood. They'd probably blame me if he wasn't, just fer bein' in the wrong place at the wrong time."

A soft exhalation, and a flutter of eyelids. The man began to stir.

"Tha's it, buddy," the wizard crooned, as if he was coaxing a puppy or a baby. "Time to wake up. You're safe with old Mundungus, never fear."

The Third Hokage opened his eyes groggily, his head aching abominably and every muscle in his body sore. A shifty-looking man kneeled over him. His breath smelled of alcohol.

"What… what happened?"

"I think that's for you to tell me," his observer said with a roguish wink. "Seeing as how we just met. Mundungus Fletcher, at'cher service."

He held out his hand, which Hiruzen didn't take because his hands were busy massaging his temples. There was something he was forgetting, but his mind was so foggy…

The pain rang like a bell in his head, interrupting his thoughts several times before he could get them in order.

"Where am I?"

"You're in Hogsmeade, old feller. Oldest wizarding village in the world, and all that tripe."

He was speaking gibberish as far as Hiruzen was concerned. Mundungus looked down at him curiously, his eyes narrowing with the effort of concentration.

"Wait a tic…" he said, with the air of someone who has made a tremendous discovery, "you're an Asian chap, aren't you?"

Hiruzen just stared at him blankly. Mundungus nodded, looking delighted with himself.

"Of course, that explains it! Why you're not wearing robes like a decent person, and why ya don't know your way around. Just got in from the East, have ya?"

This Mundungus wasn't making any sense at all, but Hiruzen decided to ignore him and concentrate on regaining his feet. Mundungus lent him a hand, pulling him up while chattering at full speed the entire time.

"Wait until I tell the boys at the pub! I bet they've never met an Asian wizard before. I wonder what kind of price that there armor would fetch in Diagon Alley? I bet there's people as would pay a pretty penny for authentic Asian wizardwear…"

Closing his eyes, and wishing he could close his ears as well, Hiruzen tried to clear his mind. There was something wrong, some danger… his body was telling him to beware of a threat.

Then it hit him. Orochimaru!

Hiruzen jumped away from Mundungus, reaching for his staff that was no longer there. Where was Orochimaru? He had just summoned the First and Second Hokage, though Hiruzen had managed to prevent the Fourth from appearing. He had been losing, unable to stand against two of his predecessors together. Then an ear-splitting crash, and a blinding flash, and then… he was here. Wherever _here_ was.

Mundungus was flinching away from him, taken off guard by the speed with which he had moved. The Hokage kept scanning the area, alert for any sign of Orochimaru.

After overcoming his surprise, Mundungus moved toward Hiruzen again. The movement brought his attention back to the moment, and he focused on the shifty wizard.

"I have dire news," he said, trying to communicate his urgency to the strange man. "Your village is in danger. Please bring me to your Kage."

Mundungus hiccupped, then laughed. "Kage? Wassat? Sounds like a kind of drink. Hey," he broke off, looking at Hiruzen with speculation. "You look like you could use a drink. Let's go have a topper!"

He tried to put one arm around the Hokage's shoulder, which Hiruzen shrugged off in disgust. The man was obviously drunk. Whatever kind of village this was, its inhabitants clearly knew nothing of discipline or danger. Orochimaru would cut through them like a scythe through hay.

Hiruzen started to walk away, but then reconsidered. He was a stranger in an unknown village, with no knowledge of the customs or procedures. Just from the strange robes worn by the man who'd found him, he could already tell he was going to stick out. Maybe it would be better to stay with Mundungus, at least until he found someone better placed to heed his warning.

"Why not," he said to Mundungus. "Lead on."

A tavern or inn would be the best place to find information, and with any luck his native guide would find a bottle to drown in and leave Hiruzen alone.

"Righto," said an ecstatic Mundungus. "To the Three Broomsticks! I'd take you to the Hog's Head, but," he winked at the Hokage conspiratorially, "Aberforth won't let me back in today. Said I'd already had enough. What cheek!"

Still mumbling under his breath about "Aberforth," Mundugus led Hiruzen to a cozy-looking building with a sign that featured three broomsticks and a frothy mug.

Mundungus headed straight to the bar, where a remarkably pretty woman was drying out a mug with a cloth.

"Hallo, Rosmerta," Mundungus said breezily. "Two firewhiskies, there's a dear."

Rosmerta wrinkled her cute nose at him.

"I know you better than that, Mundungus. It's two to one they just kicked you out of the Hog's Head. You'll have a butterbeer, and if you make any fuss I'll call Aberforth over here."

The man's face drooped miserably, but he didn't protest.

"Who's your friend?" Rosmerta regarded Hiruzen with polite interest.

"Ah," Mundungus said importantly, "this here's my friend… erm…" He looked at the Hokage. "Never did get your name, friend."

"I am called Sarutobi Hiruzen." He directed a smile towards Rosmerta without acknowledging Mundungus. It felt strange giving his full name to these strangers and not having them recognize it. He had been Hokage so long he almost didn't use his name at all. Not having people bowing to him and calling him "Hokage-sama" was sort of… refreshing.

"Right, one firewhisky for my friend Sarutobi," Mundungus resumed his possessive introduction.

Hiruzen rolled his eyes, which caused Rosmerta to hide a smile behind her hand. She got a glass down from a cupboard and poured a few fingers of a dark liquor, which she then handed to the Hokage. Mundungus got a mug full of a foamy liquid, which Hiruzen guessed must be non-alcoholic.

He took a small sip of his drink, sighing in appreciation as the fiery drink warmed him all the way down to his belly. This was _so_ much better than a fight to the death with Orochimaru.

"Sarutobi's from out East, you know," Mundungus said to Rosmerta (Hiruzen decided not to point out that Hiruzen was his given name—Sarutobi would answer just as well, and he wasn't sure he wanted to be on a first-name basis with Mundungus). "Very different customs they've got over there, as you can probably tell from the outfit. Fetch a pretty price, it would."

He nodded sagely, while Rosmerta shot him a stern glance.

"Don't you dare go taking the clothes off the backs of strangers, Mundungus Fletcher! I won't stand for it, and Albus won't either! Watch out for this one," Rosmerta added to Hiruzen, "he'd sell his own mother if he thought he could get a few galleons for her."

Hiruzen nodded, ignoring Mundungus' outraged cry, but he wasn't particularly worried. Untrustworthy Mundungus might be, but Hiruzen wasn't so over the hill that he couldn't deal with someone so obviously incompetent.

"So," Rosmerta began, obviously curious about her exotic guest, "what brings you into Hogsmeade?"

"I don't know," Hiruzen replied honestly. "I was fighting an evil ninja when we got caught in an explosion. I woke up here."

Mundungus choked on his butterbeer, sending foam spraying out over the counter.

"Fighting an evil _what?_ Pull the other one!" He started laughing uproariously.

"I assure you I'm telling the absolute truth," Hiruzen said. This was going to be difficult. How could anyone react like that to _ninja_, of all things? How did they keep their village safe without shinobi to guard it? For Hogsmeade was too obviously prosperous to be without protection.

"I'm sure you are," Rosmerta hastened to assure him. "Don't mind Mundungus."

"That brings me to my main reason for entering your tavern, Rosmerta-san." The tavern mistress looked so taken aback by the polite address that Hiruzen immediately decided to drop honorifics. There was no need to stand out more than he absolutely needed to.

"I need to find whoever is in charge of your village, to tell him or her of the threat posed by Orochimaru. However I got here, he must surely have come as well, which means everyone is in grave danger. He can change bodies at will, and won't hesitate to kill anyone in his way."

Rosmerta looked horrified, while Mundungus had a stupid half-grin on his face. He obviously thought the Hokage was spinning wild tales.

"Hogsmeade is just a tiny village," Rosmerta said after a moment, "and we don't have a _leader_, per se. But you might talk to Dumbledore, I mean, Albus Dumbledore. He's the strongest wizard you'll find anywhere, so he's the one to tell about this Ori… orum…"

"Orochimaru," Hiruzen corrected gently. "Where can I find Professor Dumbledore?"

"He'll be up at the castle," Rosmerta said. "It's just down the road, you can't miss it."

_A castle!_ Finally, something good about this strange place. A fortified defensive position, ruled by a leader of good reputation. Maybe all was not lost.

Hiruzen had also taken note of the word "wizard," which he hoped would turn out to be the warrior caste around here. He prayed this Albus Dumbledore was truly powerful, or else Hiruzen would be alone against Orochimaru. And he already knew how that fight was likely to end. It was only thanks to the barrier collapsing that Hiruzen wasn't already dead, and he wasn't likely to forget it.

"Many thanks, Lady Rosmerta. I apologize, but I must excuse myself. Nothing must delay my news."

Rosmerta nodded faintly, and Hiruzen walked out, leaving his glass on the counter. He didn't have any money, and it wouldn't have been the right kind anyway; besides, Mundungus had ordered for him so it was fitting that he pay. Hiruzen didn't feel bad—what money Mundungus had he no doubt only used to keep himself happily drunk.

The Hokage set off along a well-trod dirt road, which wound between inns and shops to open up into a green field. In the distance he could see the castle Rosmerta mentioned, spires seeming to pierce the sky. He walked at a sedate pace toward the castle, intending to use the time to gather his thoughts.

It was clear he was nowhere on the continent. Shinobi and samurai were the only military forces in any of the villages, but the only potential military force here seemed to be these wizards. Moreover, the Hokage would definitely have remembered a village called "Hogsmeade" if he had ever seen it on a map. That meant one of two things: one, he was somewhere far away on the other side of the world, in a part of the world unknown to the Land of Fire; or two, the blast of energy created by the imploding barrier had ripped a hole in the fabric of reality, and he was currently in a different world altogether. The more he thought about it, the more likely the second possibility seemed, even though he told himself it was impossible.

But he wondered. The Kyuubi's chakra was rumored to be able to warp reality. Was it so much of a stretch to believe that reality could tear entirely?

And then there was the First Hokage's journal, which was kept in the vault with Konoha's most valuable scrolls. It talked of a "great journey," during which he encountered "marvels never seen on this earth." Hiruzen had dismissed it as a figure of speech, perhaps self-important bluster. But maybe the First really had travelled to an alternate reality. Hiruzen hoped so, because that meant that it was possible to return.

The castle appeared before the Hokage, a large staircase leading up to the most enormous doors he had ever seen. The castle dwarfed his own tower, for a second making him small and insignificant.

Hiruzen walked up to the doors and paused, not wanting to simply barge in. He rapped on the oak with his sword hilt, hoping the sound would be loud enough to alert someone. He didn't see guards patrolling the walls, which disconcerted him. What was to stop enemies from scaling the walls?

"Hail the castle!" he called out in a carrying voice. "I seek safe passage!"

The doors swung inward, and Hiruzen came face-to-face with the strangest creature he had ever seen. It was barely waist-high, and had large, floppy ears. A rag was wrapped its midriff. It stared back at the Hokage with eyes as big and round as saucers.

"How can Belby help, sir?"

Hiruzen barely kept from gaping. Was this world home to monsters? But then, it seemed smart enough. And it was obviously some kind of servant, so the ruler here trusted it. Hiruzen would do the same.

"I'm here to meet with the wizard Albus Dumbledore," he said, watching the creature warily.

It bowed low, the tips of its oversized ears hitting the floor.

"Follow Belby, sir. Belby will take you to Dumbledore."

The Hokage followed closely where the creature led, through a long hall and up a staircase so grand it would have moved a daimyo to tears. Though awed by the splendor, Hiruzen couldn't help but notice that—besides Belby—he had still not glimpsed a single other person in the castle.

It was easily large enough to house Konoha's entire shinobi force, yet the halls were empty and devoid of life. Had there been some terrible plague which had decimated the population? Perhaps the occupants of the castle were at war? Or maybe, Hiruzen reflected, this Albus Dumbledore was incredibly vain, and held court alone in this castle, attended by monsters and creatures from fairy tales.

As the Hokage followed his diminutive guide through the narrower hallways on the second floor, he began to feel as though someone was watching him. It was like an itch he couldn't scratch, right between his shoulder blades, and it only grew stronger as he walked on. Then, in the corner of his eye, he caught a tiny movement, the merest glint of light flashing off of steel.

His instincts kicked in immediately, and he leapt to the side, turning in midair to face the threat. Two kunai were already in the air by the time he'd drawn his sword from its scabbard. The kunai flew straight and true, and buried themselves halfway to the hilt in their target.

Hiruzen stared, dumbstruck. His kunai had hit a painting of a knight, clad in gleaming silver plate mail and wielding a hand-and-a-half sword. His first kunai had hit the visor, and the second had struck right where the little knight's heart would be.

"I say," the knight exclaimed, "bad show! I have to live here, you know! Some people have no consideration for one's home…"

Hiruzen looked around in wonder, realizing that his sense of being watched came from the paintings lining the hall. They moved back and forth, sometimes even leaving a frame entirely and appearing in a different one. It was… disconcerting, to say the least.

Belby looked at him as if he'd sprouted an extra head.

"If sir is done punishing the painting, Belby will lead sir to Dumbledore now," the elf said.

He tore his eyes away from the paintings reluctantly. He had a mission.

The creature led him onto another set of stairs, this set a good deal smaller than the one in the entrance hall. There was a rumbling sound, and Hiruzen realized that the staircase itself was actually moving, detaching itself from the landing and heading for another landing one floor up.

For what was probably not going to be the last time that day, Sarutobi Hiruzen caught himself gaping like a dumbstruck genin.

There was no visible machinery operating the stairs, just as he could have sworn there was nothing in the paintings but actual paint. It was just too fantastical. It couldn't be real!

…_Of course!_ How could he have missed it before? None of this was real! He was in a waking dream, caught in a genjutsu so subtle he hadn't even noticed it working. Was this Orochimaru's doing? No, his former student did not have this kind of imagination. If Orochimaru had had him in his power, there would be no fairy tale creatures or moving pictures in his daydreams. There would be blood, and pain. There would be innocent people suffering.

But if not Orochimaru, then who? Was it some secret weapon that Suna had been keeping?

_Wait._ Suna began the invasion by making everyone fall asleep with an area effect genjutsu. _That must be it!_ He was trapped in a false sleep, a web of lies drawn tight around his own mind.

Well, he knew how to deal with genjutsu. He was the Professor, twice Hokage of Konoha and one of the strongest shinobi alive. No paltry, mass-produced sleep genjutsu could hold him.

Sarutobi gathered his chakra to a point behind his navel, reveling in the feeling of power that always accompanied this exercise. Then he suppressed his chakra, cutting himself off from it completely. Everything grew duller, muddier. Colors, scents, sounds—all seemed washed out, less vivid than before. But the hallway he was walking through, the walking pictures, the moving staircase; they were all still there.

_Damn. So much for this being a genjutsu._ Hiruzen reopened himself to his chakra, sighing with the relief only felt by an addict after withdrawal.

Well, the simplest explanations often were the right ones, after all. No matter how utterly _impossible_ they seemed. Like it or not, he was trapped in an alternate dimension.

His guide stopped in front of a stone gargoyle, roughly the height of a man.

"Licorice wand," said Belby.

The gargoyle stepped aside. Hiruzen watched it with fatalistic stoicism. What was one more moving gargoyle, in this hall of wonders?

"This is being the Headmaster's study, sir. He is waiting for you. Belby is going now, sir."

And with another low bow, Belby disappeared with a crack.

_Well,_ the Hokage thought, impressed. _That was a jonin level Body Displacement. Perhaps the ninja arts are not as alien to this land as I thought._

He walked up the stairs, which ended abruptly in front of a door. He was about to knock, but a voice came from inside when his hand was only inches from the wood.

"Come in, please."

The Hokage entered. Was this how first time genin felt when they entered his own study to receive their missions? A little nervous, a little excited?

Inside Hiruzen got his first look at Albus Dumbledore.

His first impression was that the man was too old to be truly powerful. Hiruzen knew he himself was past his prime, but he was still fit and able to fight. This man was even older than he was, and frail. His long, white beard argued that he'd never been in combat at all. Hiruzen almost despaired, thinking that Orochimaru would find no worthy adversary here.

But then he looked closer into Dumbledore's face. The man's eyes twinkled at him, hinting at things long hidden from sight. There were dark depths in those eyes, depths which spoke of many lifetimes' worth of experience. Here was a man whose past haunted him, whose shoulders were bowed with a terrible burden. His was not the strength of the lion, all muscle and speed and ferocity. His was the strength of the willow, the strength that digs down deep into the earth, bending with the wind but never giving ground.

Hiruzen looked at Albus Dumbledore, and it was as if he was looking at himself.

"I heard from Belby that there was a man in a funny hat and armor approaching the castle. I worried she might have been into the firewhiskey, but here you are. Welcome to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I am the Headmaster here, Albus Dumbledore."

He held out his hand, and the Hokage was pleasantly surprised by the firm strength of his handshake.

"My name is Sarutobi Hiruzen. I was told you are the most powerful person in these parts, and so I came to you to warn you. Earlier today, I was locked in a battle to the death with my former student. He led an attack on my village, and even now my brave comrades may be dying to protect the villagers. Somehow the two of us were transported here, and we did not arrive together. Somewhere, I am sure, Orochimaru lies in waiting, gathering his strength to finish me before returning home."

Dumbledore followed all this without any apparent reaction, but at the final statement he raised an eyebrow quizzically.

"And where is your home?" he asked shrewdly. "I have some passing familiarity with Eastern wizarding culture, and it seems to me that your attire does not resemble any of the Eastern styles. In fact, it's quite unlike anything I have ever seen before."

Hiruzen paused for a second. Could he trust Dumbledore with his secret? Would the Headmaster even believe him? But looking into his eyes, he doubted he could shock this man no matter what he told him.

"I'm still trying to figure out what happened to me," Hiruzen began slowly, "but I'm becoming more and more convinced that I'm in the wrong reality."

Dumbledore only nodded, as if he met dimension-traveling warriors every day. But then, perhaps he did. It might explain some of the fantastic things Hiruzen had already witnessed around the castle.

"Let me see if I have everything correct," Dumbledore said. "You and your student were transported here, somehow, and now you need to find him before he finds you."

"That's exactly it. It won't be easy, though. Orochimaru is a skilled ninja. There are perhaps only two or three in my own world who could hope to match him. He can take over bodies at will, giving him perfect disguises and even a kind of immortality. He has most likely already found a place to hide, until he knows enough about your world to lay his own plans."

Dumbledore steepled his fingers together, looking pensive.

"Then, perhaps, it might be a good idea for you to do the same. Would you object to staying at Hogwarts while you find your feet?"

"I can't afford to lose any time in searching for Orochimaru. Every second I waste might mean another of my comrades dead. I have a duty to the village of Konoha which I cannot shirk."

"Ah yes, you were transported here in the middle of a battle. I'm sorry for your village, I'm sure you are suffering greatly. But I believe staying at Hogwarts is still your best option. I am not without influence in the Wizarding world, and I have many contacts of my own. As soon as Orochimaru reveals himself, rest assured, I will be among the first to know. And as for your other problem …" Dumbledore coughed modestly. "There is no wizard in Britain with a greater chance of discovering a way to return you to your village and dimension."

Hiruzen thought over his options, and realized they were rather limited. As much as he wanted to strike out immediately in search of Orochimaru, traveling blindly would leave everything up to dumb luck. That was unacceptable. What Dumbledore offered was the best he was going to get, and the man himself would be an excellent guide to learning about this world.

"That may be the best solution," Hiruzen said finally. "I thank you for your hospitality. With luck I will not impose on you for long."

"Not at all, not at all. If it weren't for your poor village I would urge you to stay forever. I am quite fond of magical puzzles, and you are the most perplexing one I have found in a long while."

Dumbledore smiled at Hiruzen, who nodded agreement. His position was piquing his own curiosity, but with the pressing matters of the Konoha Invasion and Orochimaru at large, he most likely wouldn't get a chance to satisfy it.

"The problem is that, while we pray it is not, your stay here may be of some duration. Therefore it will be necessary to devise a reason for you to be here, one that no one will question. However, I do have an idea, and on the whole I believe it will work out rather well."

Hiruzen waited expectantly.

"Tell me, are you a wizard? That is, do you possess magical powers? I sense power from you, but I thought I should make sure."

"Ah, so that is what wizard means? That you have magical powers?"

"That's the general definition, yes."

"Of a kind," Sarutobi responded. "I am versed in the ninja arts of ninjutsu and genjutsu. To one not born with the aptitude, these arts are as unattainable as the stars."

"I see," Dumbledore mused. His eyes lit up with a fierce curiosity, though his voice remained mild. "Would it be too forward to ask for a demonstration?"

"Not at all," Hiruzen responded. "Much of what we shinobi can do is simply physical training, but there are a few things only shinobi can do."

He made a series of hand seals, and two shadow clones popped into existence on either side of him. A few more hand seals, and each clone produced a fireball, which they then let dissipate.

Dumbledore clapped politely.

"That is… simply _fascinating_. I could spend a lifetime studying the differences between our style of magic and yours, and count that life well spent. Would you mind answering more questions, some time at a later date?"

"Of course. Might I see something of what you can do?"

Inside Hiruzen was smiling, and he thought Dumbledore might be too. They were like a couple of Academy students, playing "who's got the best jutsu?"

Dumbledore pulled out a slender stick and gave it a gentle flick. His desk morphed into a lion, giving a convincing roar. Another flick of his wand and the lion became a desk again.

"Do all wizards need wands to perform magic?" asked Hiruzen curiously.

"Not technically, but for all intents and purposes the answer is yes. But before I get carried away talking shop, let me finish telling you my idea. Now that I've seen your abilities, I am sure it will work."

"What do you have in mind?"

"As I mentioned before, this is a school for teaching young witches and wizards. I recently filled the position of Defence Against the Dark Arts professor, but I am less than happy with his qualifications. However, because of several difficulties I have been unable to come up with any viable alternatives."

He smiled at Hiruzen disarmingly. "Until you."

Hiruzen did not share his confidence.

"Are you forgetting that I know nothing about your magic? What could I teach these children?"

"Exactly what the subject says, defending against the Dark Arts. And from your description of Orochimaru, I believe you are more than qualified in that area. The remainder of the summer will be enough time for me to teach you everything you'll need to know. I give all of the professors here a lot of freedom with regards to their teaching methods, and it hasn't steered me wrong yet."

Dumbledore looked sheepish for a second.

"Well, except for last year, when it was discovered that one Professor was actually playing host to an evil spirit. Ah well, we are none of us perfect."

The Hokage decided he'd let that one slide.

Truth to tell, he was liking this proposition more and more. Not for nothing was he called "The Professor" by those who knew him. He loved knowledge for its own sake, and teaching was a joy to him. That had only made it worse for him when his student used the knowledge he'd been given to wreak havoc and destruction.

But now, years later, he had a chance to make amends for his past mistake. He could make allies here, and wait for Orochimaru to resurface, all while teaching children how to fight against evil. Perhaps his situation wasn't that bad at all.

_Hold on, Konoha, _he thought fervently. _I'm coming as fast as I can._

To Dumbledore he said, "I would be honored to accept the post, Headmaster."

Dumbledore waved his hand airily.

"Please, call me Albus."

"Thank you, Albus. My given name is Hiruzen, and I'd be honored if you would use it as well."

"Very good. I'll call Belby back here, she can get you settled in your new quarters. Tomorrow we can start your magical education. I'll send an owl to Gilderoy Lockhart right away, to inform him that his services are no longer necessary."

The two shook hands once again, Dumbledore's eyes twinkling merrily from behind his half-moon spectacles.

Just like that, everything was settled. The Professor was going back to school.

**A/N:** I'll probably never finish a chapter this fast again, so don't expect another update tomorrow. Tune in next time to figure out what Orochimaru's been up to, as well as getting the first and only glimpse of poor Lockhart in this story. Sorry buddy, but you're the weakest link.


	3. Lucius Has a Visitor

**A/N:** A very short chapter, in which we discover what Orochimaru has been up to since arriving in England.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Naruto or Harry Potter. Also, any sentences that are the same as in Chamber of Secrets do not belong to me. All dialogue is J.K. Rowling's.

**Chapter 2: Lucius Has a Visitor**

"Thank you, Borgin, that will be all. Come along, Draco," Lucius Malfoy snapped at his son, who was reaching toward a cabinet in the far corner of the store.

Lucius swept out of Borgin and Burke's like royalty, which he very nearly was. Everyone in the Wizarding Underworld knew of his reputation among the Death Eaters of old, and his wealth and standing gained him legitimacy in even the most aristocratic circles. High or low, there were few wizards that didn't know and respect the name of Lucius Malfoy.

He navigated Knockturn Alley's narrow, cramped streets with the ease of familiarity, Draco by his side.

"That concludes our business here. Is there anything you need for school besides books?"

Draco pursed his lips, thinking.

"I need a new pair of dragonhide gloves. And a broomstick for Quidditch this year," he added, eyes lighting with greed.

"Yes, you'll have the best," Lucius agreed. "It might be wise to make an investment for the Slytherin team this year, as well. It would be a smirch on the honor of Slytherin House if you lost to Gryffindor… _again_."

"I'll be on the team this year, sir. We won't lose!"

"Make sure you don't," said Lucius firmly. "If you disappoint me, you'll regret it."

They turned a corner and entered Diagon Alley, heading for Madame Malkin's. Draco got his pair of dragonhide gloves, and because Lucius was feeling generous he got a new set of robes as well.

Draco didn't know why Lucius was in such a good mood today, but he wasn't inclined to ask questions.

The reason that Lucius was in such a good mood was that the next stop was Flourish and Blotts. At last he could rid himself of the most dangerous magical artifact in his collection, and watch with satisfaction as it wreaked havoc this year at Hogwarts. The old fool Dumbledore wouldn't know what hit him, and if by chance he managed to discover the diary, there would be no way to link it back to Lucius.

In front of the bookstore was a large poster of a blond wizard flashing brilliant, white teeth. Underneath it said, "This afternoon only, Gilderoy Lockhart will be signing his autobiography _Magical Me_."

It was a mob scene inside, as a seemingly endless throng of witches fought to get a better view of Lockhart. Lucius looked around for a likely wizarding family to receive the diary, but found himself drawn to the commotion going on in the back of the store.

It seemed Lockhart had grabbed someone from the crowd, and was pulling him back up on stage with him.

It was Harry Potter.

Lucius ground his teeth furiously. The Boy Who Lived… and who ruined all of Lucius' dreams of power and glory.

If it wasn't for this insignificant child, Lucius would now be one of the most powerful men in the world. Instead, a child of one had brought down the Dark Lord, and Lucius had been forced to grovel before wizards not fit to lick his boots.

It was because of Potter that do-gooders like Albus Dumbledore could go around preaching about Muggle rights and equality between all wizards. It was because of Potter that a weakling like Fudge held the post of Prime Minister. It was all Lucius could do not to whip out his wand and use the Killing Curse right then and there.

"Ladies and Gentlemen," Lockhart announced, flashing his white teeth, "today is a lucky day! In the same room, we have two of the greatest wizards of our time! The Boy Who Lived, and the man who… well, I'm sure my books speak for themselves."

Another gleaming smile, and a round of applause from the witches in the front row. Lucius noticed a group with bright red hair, and felt himself grin almost as widely as Lockhart. The Weasley family. How perfect. The filthy blood-traitor would drive himself to distraction searching his manor for dark artifacts, when in fact the darkest item in Lucius' collection would be right under his nose. The irony was too great to resist. However, that meant he would have to wait for Lockhart to end this ridiculous publicity stunt before he could make his move.

"…and so," Lockhart said, "it is my honor to present Mr. Potter with a signed copy of my autobiography _Magical Me_, free of charge."

He handed the stunned-looking Potter a thick book, and pulled him close for the photographers.

_That's it? _Lucius thought incredulously, _he just gave him a free book? How desperate IS this man for attention?_

In the row of reporters came a woman's high voice, easily carrying over the hubbub in the store.

"Mr. Lockhart!"

"Yes?" he responded genially. "Always happy to answer a question from my fans in the press!"

The woman nudged her glasses farther up her nose with long, lacquered fingernails. Her quill was poised over an open notebook, looking like some bird of prey ready to strike. It was a look that mirrored the expression in her sharp, beady eyes.

"Rita Skeeter, Special Correspondent for the Daily Prophet. Is there any truth to the rumors that you were offered the post of Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor at Hogwarts, but you were then replaced a few days later without explanation?"

Lockhart's smile remained, but it looked slightly slickly and his face gained a greenish tinge. He gave Harry a nudge away from the platform, though it was more like a shove.

"Not at all, not at all," Lockhart said, though this time with less airy confidence. "The Headmaster was kind enough to invite me to teach at his august institution, but I had no choice but to turn it down. I'm in the middle of writing my next book, and I'm afraid I simply don't have the time."

"Is that so? But according to an anonymous tip—"

"No more questions!" Lockhart almost shouted, a thin sheen of sweat visible on his tanned face. He almost ran to the back door, while Ms. Skeeter's quill scribbled furiously in her notebook, unguided by her hand.

The crowd dispersed, and students wandered indiscriminately amongst the shelves, chatting furiously and comparing long lists of schoolbooks.

Lucius began to head towards Potter and the Weasley children, only to see that Draco had already left in that direction. It would give him an excuse to get close to the girl's cauldron, but he was still a little disappointed in Draco. Public confrontations would not get him anything, and it was likely he was just acting out of petty jealousy.

A Malfoy did not pick fights in a bookshop over a few photographs, a lesson which Draco had better learn soon. The world was not forgiving to fools.

"Famous Harry Potter," Lucius heard Draco sneer. "Can't even go into a _bookshop_ without making the front page."

"Leave him alone, he didn't ask for that!" said the redheaded girl angrily.

"Oh look, Potter's got himself a girlfriend!" scoffed Draco.

Lucius decided it was time to step in.

"Now, now, Draco, play nicely." He put a hand on his son's shoulder.

"Lucius," said Arthur Weasley, who had headed over after seeing Draco talking with his children.

"Arthur," Lucius responded, curling his lip with all the disdain he could muster. "I see you're still scraping for cast-offs," he began, looking pointedly at the patched robes worn by the Weasley children. "What's the use of being a disgrace to the name of wizard if they don't even pay you well for it?"

"The Ministry has rather a different idea of what disgraces the name of wizard, _Malfoy_."

"Clearly," Lucius said dryly, moving next to the girl's cauldron. He took out a second-hand book with a patched cover, one large enough to keep the diary from being seen. He slipped the diary surreptitiously out of his sleeve, holding it behind the textbook so it didn't show. He dropped both textbook and diary back into the cauldron, holding Arthur's eyes with his own.

"And I thought your family could sink no lower—"

His distraction worked, as Arthur Weasley hit him square in the face. Lucius fought back, cursing the necessity for such crude tactics. Malfoys did not brawl! Unless the situation demanded it, of course.

There was an outcry of raised voices. Lucius heard two voices shouting together, "Get him, dad," as well as a woman's concerned shriek of "Arthur!"

Then an enormous hand grabbed the scruff of his neck and separated him from Arthur Weasley. It was the halfwit Groundskeeper, the one his son told him had tried to raise a dragon last year.

After Hagrid put him down, Lucius straightened his robe and sneered.

"Treasure that book, girl," he snarled at the youngest Weasley. "It's all your family can afford. Come, Draco."

Lucius congratulated himself mentally on a job well done. He looked forward to the owl that he knew would be coming in a few months, to inform him that the Chamber of Secrets was open once again.

Behind him he heard the conversation that began with his absence, growing fainter as he walked away.

"Shame on you, Arthur," a woman's voice said, "starting a fight like that!"

"He started it, Molly. Let's change the subject. Do you think Gilderoy Lockhart was really going to be a Professor at Hogwarts?"

"Oh, I wish he had been!" came the woman's voice again. "He would have made such a good Professor…"

After leaving Flourish and Blotts, nothing remained but to buy his son a broom, and to place an order for six more Nimbus 2001 racing brooms to be delivered to Professor Snape at Hogwarts. He enclosed a short note, which read:

_Dear Professor Snape,_

_I would like to show my appreciation for Slytherin House with this gift to the Slytherin Quidditch team. I trust that my son Draco will prove an apt member of the team, and look forward to seeing you at Slytherin's first match._

_Regards,_

_Lucius Malfoy_

Then Lucius and Draco flooed back to Malfoy Manor. Draco went straight outside again, to try out his new broom. Lucius went up to his room to relax, and put some ice on his aching cheekbone. Arthur Weasley had a decent right hook.

Lucius turned to close the door behind him.

"Welcome home," a cold voice hissed over his shoulder.

His hand went for his wand, but found nothing there. He whirled around, coming face to face with a nightmare.

His uninvited guest was deathly pale, with black hair down to his shoulders. His eyes were amber and had slitted pupils, which seemed to hold Lucius in thrall. He couldn't have said a word, even if his own wand hadn't been pointed directly at his throat.

"What, no greeting? Where are your manners, wizard?"

Lucius tried to speak, but his throat was so dry that only a squeak emerged. He swallowed, and tried again.

"Who… who are you?"

"Tsk, tsk, still rude. How lucky for you I'm an understanding guest. You may call me Orochimaru. I already know who you are, Lucius."

Lucius' eyes widened at the sound of his name. Orochimaru laughed, a cold, slithering sound that made Lucius shiver.

"Yes, you'd be amazed at what it's possible to learn just by listening. About wizards, and magic. Such a wondrous world I've found myself in. I almost don't miss Konoha at all."

Lucius had no idea what his captor was talking about.

"Ah, I'm confusing you. Let me get on back on track. We were talking about you, and your… affiliations. I've heard from many sources that you were one of the most feared followers of Voldemort. He sounds like an interesting man, this Voldemort. I hope I get to meet him one day."

Orochimaru licked his lips, looking so like a snake that Lucius wondered if this man was even human. Was he a magical being, some powerful denizen of darkness?

"You're quite resourceful, Lucius," Orochimaru observed casually. "Your master is gone, yet here you are, rich and influential still. How prudent of you, to abandon your master as soon as you thought yourself free of him."

_It can't be._ Was this… _him?_ Those eyes, slitted and evil, could they be his eyes?

Lucius dropped to his knees.

"Forgive me, Great Lord!" he pleaded. "I never denounced you in my heart, it was only so that I might serve you when you rose again!"

The pale man chuckled, but his eyes were not amused.

"You think I'm Voldemort? I'm insulted. I thought you were at least somewhat intelligent, and had initiative. I hope I was not wrong."

Lucius got back on his feet unsteadily, but with profound relief. If this wasn't Voldemort, he might live out the night.

"Indeed, the idea of it! I, Orochimaru, Snake Sannin and Destroyer of Konoha, mistaken for a pitiful failure defeated by a baby? It is laughable. But I will give you a chance to redeem yourself in my eyes. I'm in the market for a new body. One that will grant me access to the species of magic you use on this world. Until I choose my new vessel, you will be my interface with the world. Do well, and I will not kill you or your son. You may even be rewarded."

Orochimaru reached out and grabbed hold of Lucius' right sleeve, moving so quickly that Lucius didn't even realize until his sleeve was pulled up. On his forearm was his Dark Mark, the tattoo that was his only remaining connection to his former master.

"So this is the Dark Mark. It's artistic, I'll say that. But worthless in the end, just like your precious Voldemort. How would you like me to give you a mark of my own?"

And then, Orochimaru's neck… _stretched_, and he opened his mouth to reveal sharp fangs. Lucius gaped in horror, but before he could make a sound the creature of nightmare sank its teeth into his neck. First came a rushing through his veins, then an intense heat, then pain unlike anything he'd ever experienced.

Malfoy Manor echoed with the sound of his agonized screams.

**A/N:** What did you think?

Next time Harry has his first Defense Against the Dark Arts class. See you then!


	4. First Class

**A/N: **It's been a little while since the last update, for which I can only apologize. I've been spending most of my free time working on **Rise of the Uchiha**, my take on how things would have turned out if Itachi decided not to kill Shisui and gain the Mangekyou sharingan. Unless this story gets a hell of a lot of reviews, it will probably take a back seat to RotU for the foreseeable future.

Now back to the story, and Harry's first Defense class!

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Naruto or Harry Potter.

**Chapter 3: The Professor's First Class**

Harry heaved a huge sigh of relief when the door to Snape's office closed, leaving him and Ron unharmed on the other side. If he'd known borrowing Mr. Weasley's flying car would land him in this much trouble, he would have stayed at King's Cross Station, forever if necessary. Until Professor McGonagall had stepped in, he'd really thought they might get expelled. As if they hadn't already been punished enough by the Whomping Willow.

"Blimey, that was close." Ron's pale face made his freckles seem even more prominent. "I thought we were done for!"

"Yeah, Snape wasn't going to let us get away from that one. If it hadn't been for McGonagall…"

Ron gulped, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down violently. "Don't even think about it, mate."

The two friends made their way back to the Gryffindor common room, slowly relaxing as the familiar sights reassured them that they were indeed back at Hogwarts, and were there to stay. Harry couldn't keep the smile off of his face as he walked through the halls, returning the friendly waves of the witches and wizards in the portraits.

_I don't care what that crazy house-elf said, _he thought with determination. _This is where I belong._

When they reached the portrait of the Fat Lady on the third floor, Ron stopped and put a hand on Harry's shoulder. "Brace yourself, Harry. They're all going to want to know why we weren't at dinner. What should we tell them?"

Harry shrugged. "Nothing wrong with the truth, is there? We didn't know we were doing anything wrong, and it's a good story, after all."

He stifled a laugh when he saw Ron's face brighten. Clearly his friend was looking forward to bragging about their adventure, and their subsequent brush with disaster in the form of Professor Snape. But truth be told, now that Harry knew he wasn't going to be expelled he found himself also looking forward to telling his friends about the trip to Hogwarts.

Professor McGonagall had given them the password before they left, so Harry and Ron had no trouble opening the passageway into the common room. And just as Ron had predicted, the entire House was waiting to ambush them.

"Why weren't you at the Feast? … What happened to you? … Peeves said you were getting arrested!"

The voices flew fast and furious, and Ron and Harry were barely able to understand the questions, let alone answer any of them. Eventually Ron took center stage and began his story, the Gryffindors forming a loose circle around him. Ron really played it up, making sweeping motions with his arms to represent the car and, later, the deadly branches of the Whomping Willow. He held up his smashed wand to general delight.

Meanwhile, Hermione grabbed Harry and dragged him outside of the circle.

"What happened to you two?" she began, looking concerned. "One second you're with us, then the next thing I know the train's leaving and you two are nowhere in sight! Mrs. Weasley almost broke down right there in the station!"

"I don't know," Harry whispered, looking around to make sure they weren't being overheard. "The barrier just… wouldn't let us through. I don't know why. So Ron and I borrowed Mr. Weasley's car."

Hermione's look of horror was almost comical, and Harry had to struggle not to laugh.

"_Harry_! You didn't!"

Harry held out his hands, hoping to head off one of Hermione's signature scoldings. "I know, it wasn't our best decision. Professor Snape made sure we knew that, when he brought us into his office and tried to get us expelled. If it wasn't for Professor McGonagall showing up right on time, we might be packing our bags to leave."

Hermione's eyes widened until she looked like a bushy-haired owl. "Oh no! Thank goodness for Professor McGonagall. Harry, promise me you won't do anything like that again, ok?"

"All right, mum. I promise." Harry gave her a sincere smile to take the sting out of his sarcasm.

"This is no time for jokes, Harry!" Hermione scolded. "Remember what that House Elf told you, about you being in danger this year!"

Harry rolled his eyes at the reminder of Dobby.

"Come on, Hermione, what could possibly be a threat to us with Professor Dumbledore around? Besides Voldemort, and Dobby said it wasn't him."

Hermione pursed her lips, looking thoughtful. "I don't know, but it only makes what I said before even more important. If there's anything dangerous out there, taking unnecessary risks isn't something you should be doing this year."

"I got it, Hermione. No more stealing flying cars."

The night wore on, and eventually even Ron got tired of recounting his adventures. The second-year boys trooped up to bed, swapping stories about summer and complaining about classes.

A thought occurred to Harry before he fell asleep. "Hey, who's our Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher this year? Obviously Quirrell isn't coming back."

"Oh, wait until you see him," Dean answered excitedly. "His name is Professor Sarutobi. He's from Japan, and he wears funny white robes and a totally different style of wizard hat. Get this: he doesn't even use a wand! I can't wait to see what he's like."

"Well, we have class tomorrow, right?" Ron pointed out. "We'll find out then."

After that the chatter died down, and soon the dorm was silent save for the sounds of snoring.

The next morning at breakfast Harry and Ron discovered that Mrs. Weasley was possibly even scarier than Professor Snape. The Howler that Ron received in the mail harangued him and Harry for a full five minutes, until finally it shriveled up into dust. The entire Hall was silent, watching the two Gryffindors with varying degrees of amusement. Ron's face looked like you could fry an egg on it.

Hermione took pity on the two of them, probably thinking that now Mrs. Weasley had had her say, she could be friends with the two miscreants again.

"Let's go down to Herbology early," she urged. "We'll get the best seats."

Ron stood up immediately. "I'm not hungry anymore anyway," he said miserably.

The three friend walked down to the greenhouses, where Professor Sprout and Neville were already waiting.

"Hallo, Harry!" Neville called cheerfully. "Hermione, Ron."

"Hallo, Neville." Harry was glad that Neville didn't still nurse a grudge from last year, when they'd used the Body-Bind Curse to keep him out of the way while they confronted Quirrell. His House points had won the cup for them, after all, which would go a long way toward reconciliation. It also helped that Neville was so unfailingly good-natured. Harry promised himself they would spend more time with Neville this year.

Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs started arriving, showing up in groups of three and four, still rubbing the sleep out of their eyes. When everyone was together, Professor Sprout clapped her hands for silence.

"Everyone, we'll be going to Greenhouse Three today."

That was surprising, given the more dangerous nature of the plants housed there. As first-years, they'd never been allowed in.

When they settled into the greenhouse, Professor Sprout asked them what they knew about mandrakes. As usual, Hermione had her hand up before Professor Sprout even finished her question.

Ron rolled his eyes at Harry expressively, as if to say, "here she goes again."

Harry wondered if he and Ron were being a little hypocritical. I mean, it was all very well to poke fun at Hermione for being a know-it-all, but then they didn't exactly complain when she won them House points.

"Excellent, Miss Granger, ten points to Gryffindor," Professor Sprout's voice rang out, underscoring Harry's thoughts.

At Professor Sprout's direction the students began putting on earmuffs. Harry was less than pleased with his choice, but supposed it was better than unconsciousness or death. Professor Sprout yanked out the mandrake by the flower, shocking the room with the sudden appearance of a squalling baby from the soil.

_Thunk._

"Oh, for Merlin's sake, will someone please take Longbottom to the Hospital Wing?"

Once Neville was safely on his way to the castle, and the baby mandrake was back in its pot, the Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs formed groups to re-pot their own mandrakes.

Harry was less than pleased with the fourth member of their group, Justin Finch-Fletchley. He complimented all three of the Gryffindors, but it seemed that was just an introduction so that he could talk about himself. Harry learned more than he ever wanted to know about how Justin's had been put down for Eton, at least until he got the letter from Hogwarts. Harry got the feeling Justin would still be talking if they hadn't had to put their earmuffs back on to re-pot their mandrake.

The lesson was grueling and tedious, as the mandrake furiously resisted all attempts to move it. Hermione might have known everything there was to know about the plants, but she was just as inept as the boys when it came to handling them. Finally the hour was over, and Harry relinquished his fluffy, pink earmuffs with one last, silent curse.

"What do we have next?" Ron asked as they started up the path back to the castle.

Hermione rummaged in her bag for the schedule. "I don't think we have anything before lunch. Then it's Defense Against the Dark Arts."

"Hermione," Harry said mockingly, "you haven't memorized your schedule yet? You're slipping!"

"I've been busy," Hermione said defensively. "First was the sorting, then I was wondering where you two were-" At that point she realized Harry was only joking, and punched him playfully in the arm.

The three of them bickered good-naturedly as they walked up the path. They turned a corner, only to narrowly miss running into an old man smoking a pipe. He wore white robes, which were accented with red, and a white hat with a cloth draping down to cover his neck. There was a strange-looking symbol on the top of his hat.

"Forgive me," the old man said politely. "I was lost in thought."

Hermione seemed flustered, and Harry soon found out why.

"No, it was our fault, Professor Sarutobi! We're very sorry."

"No harm done," the Professor said. "And who are you three?"

"I'm Hermione Granger," Hermione said in a rush. "This is Ron Weasley, and Harry Potter. We're in your class after lunch."

Ron scowled at Hermione for taking the introductions on herself, while Harry waited for the familiar spark of recognition he usually received when someone heard his name.

But the professor only nodded, apparently committing their names to memory. "I look forward to it. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have an appointment with Professor Sprout."

"Right, sorry. Bye!" Hermione waved as the new Defense professor walked down the path, passing other groups of students as he made his way to the greenhouses.

"That was kinda weird," Ron said, turning to head back to the castle. "What a strange bloke! Never seen robes like that before."

Harry didn't respond. Seeing as how he'd never seen anyone wearing robes until just over a year ago, he wasn't about to comment. But there was something about the Professor that made him pause, a sense that there was more to the old man than met the eye.

He shrugged, following Ron and Hermione into the Great Hall. There would be plenty of time to figure out Professor Sarutobi in class.

But discussing the new professor kept Hermione busy until lunch, and even then it became clear that she wasn't the only one impressed with Professor Sarutobi. Fred and George came over to sit next to the three younger Gryffindors.

"Congratulations on the Howler, Ronniekins," George said with a smile. "Normally it takes us at least a few days to get an angry letter from home."

"Stow it," Ron grumbled.

Fred waved his hand in dismissal. "Never mind about that. When do you three have Defense Against the Dark Arts?"

"Right after lunch," Hermione answered. "Why?"

"Because we want you to tell us what he's like! We don't have him until Wednesday, but we hear good things."

George nodded knowingly. "Good things like how he smacked Malfoy over the head during the first class!"

Harry and Ron laughed outright, though Hermione looked slightly scandalized. "Are you serious?" Harry demanded. "How'd that happen?"

"We heard it from Nearly Headless Nick, who overheard Pansy Parkinson whining about it. Apparently Malfoy was being a brat, and hinted that Professor Sarutobi couldn't be much of a wizard if he didn't even have a wand. And then a staff appeared in the Professor's hands, and he whacked Malfoy right on his greasy head!"

Ron gave an exaggerated cheer, drawing some strange looks from people at the other tables. Harry looked over at the Slytherin table, where Malfoy was indeed rubbing his head with one hand, staring at Ron with murder in his eyes. Harry snickered, and mimed swinging a staff. If looks could kill, Malfoy would have finished the work Voldemort started so many years ago. As it was, Harry turned back to the conversation completely satisfied. It was the little things in life…

"It serves him right," Hermione was saying, drawing an approving look from Ron. "It's absolutely ignorant to look down on someone because they perform magic differently. I wonder if he'll teach us the methods he learned in Japan? Oh, this year is going to be so exciting!"

Harry tried to imagine what magic would be like without a wand. Even after only one year, the comforting weight of his wand was as familiar to him as his reflection in the mirror.

After lunch Harry, Ron, and Hermione joined the rest of the second-year Gryffindors and went in search of the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. The hallway buzzed with their excited conversation. It appeared they were all curious about their exotic new professor.

Professor Sarutobi was sitting at his desk at the front of the room, puffing contentedly on a pipe. Wisps of smoke rose above his head, forming strange patterns before reaching the ceiling and disappearing.

The second-year Gryffindors sat down at their desks, falling silent immediately. For a few long seconds they just waited, almost mesmerized, watching the smoke rise through the air. Then Professor Sarutobi stood up, leaving his pipe face up on the desk.

"Welcome to Defense Against the Dark Arts. Who can tell me what this class is about?"

Hermione's hand shot into the air with her usual speed. The professor's eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled.

"Ah, Miss Granger. Please, enlighten us."

"The purpose of Defense Against the Dark Arts is to familiarize us with the spells and curses used by Dark wizards and witches, and to teach us how they may be countered."

"That's not necessarily a _bad _answer," the professor said, "but it is only partially correct."

There was a muffled gasp from most of the Gryffindors, who were shocked at what was perhaps the first time they had ever witnessed Hermione Granger get a question wrong. Hermione herself at first looked stunned, and then determined. She opened her notebook with fire in her eyes, pen poised to copy down what the Professor said next.

"As most of you already know, I am not from Britain. The western tradition of magic is very different from my own, and Professor Dumbledore has given me the go-ahead to teach you according to my own principles. And I'm afraid that you have all been raised with a very skewed perception of the so-called Dark Arts. What do you think qualifies as Dark magic?"

The Gryffindor students looked around at one another nervously, unwilling to put themselves forward.

"All right," Professor Sarutobi said, "let me phrase this another way. What spells do you know? Can you give me an example?"

"Wingardium Leviosa!" Ron called out.

"Ah, the levitation spell. Right, Mr. Weasley, would you care to give us a demonstration?"

Ron looked intensely embarrassed that he'd volunteered, and raised his spello-taped wand apologetically.

"Ah, had a mishap with your wand, eh? What else can you expect when your abilities are all tied up in an external object, easy to break or to steal… but that's a discussion for another day. Are there any other volunteers?"

Harry raised his hand along with almost everyone else, wondering where the professor was going with this.

"Mr. Longbottom, if you would."

Harry cringed a little, but Neville managed to cast a very passable levitating charm. Professor Sarutobi's pipe rose a few feet in the air, and the slight wobble was barely noticeable.

"Thank you, Mr. Longbottom, that will do."

Before the pipe could fall to the desk, the professor snatched it out of the air. "It's hard to imagine this simple spell used in another context, but I want you to try. Imagine I was using it not on a pipe, but on a human being. Imagine that I'm levitating him right off the edge of a cliff. Would you consider that Dark magic?"

The class sat in stunned silence. Professor Sarutobi puffed on his pipe contentedly, acting as if he hadn't said anything strange at all.

"Now think of other spells you know. I'm sure you can think of ways that they can be used for evil purposes. Not just spells, but plants, potions, anything you can think of. Magical or mundane, everything can be turned to a Dark purpose."

Sarutobi grinned at the students, who were at this point thoroughly traumatized. "Of course, it's not all bad. The reverse of this is that any spell, no matter what its nature, can be used in defense of the Light. That is what I will be teaching you this year: not just how to defend yourselves against Dark magic, but how to recognize when magic is being turned to a Dark purpose."

Hermione raised her hand high in the air.

"Yes, Miss Granger?"

"But Professor," Hermione began, "aren't there spells that can _only _be classified as Dark magic? Spells that could never be anything but evil?"

For a second Professor Sarutobi looked very old, and weary beyond anything Harry could imagine. "I will say that there are certain things which are unforgivable; things that no person can do and still be said to possess a soul. But many of those crimes aren't magical at all."

"What about the…" Hermione gulped, but continued. "What about the Unforgivable Curses?"

The professor brightened at this question, shaking off the memories that seemed to be playing behind his eyes.

"That is an excellent question. And for those of you who don't know, the Unforgiveable Curses are three spells that will land anyone who uses them in the Wizard prison, Azkaban. But I maintain that these three spells are not, in and of themselves, purely evil."

There was an outcry from several people in the room. To Harry's surprise Neville was one of them. The slightly chubby young Gryffindor was clenching his hands in his lap so hard the knuckles were turning white.

Professor Sarutobi raised his hands for silence.

"I know this is difficult for you to understand, because you were raised in a peaceful time. But murder is not the worst crime that a person may commit. Sometimes killing is necessary, and saves lives. Many of your parents lived through the last war against the Dark Wizard Voldemort-" there were a series of gasps at hearing the name. "And perhaps some of your parents didn't live through it. But do you think that they hesitated to kill to protect their loved ones? And if killing by magic is necessary, why wouldn't you choose the most efficient, painless method possible? Because that is all that Avada Kedavra, or the Killing Curse is: a swift, painless death. It is the person behind the wand who is evil, not the spell."

Neville rose his voice, sounding very upset. "And what about the C… Cruciatus curse?"

The professor looked into the young Gryffindor's eyes. "The Cruciatus curse is one of the cruelest spells in existence. It is used for no other purpose than to cause pain. Out of the three Unforgiveable Curses, it comes the closest to being pure Dark magic. But that is not because it is truly Unforgivable, only clumsy and inefficient. Torture during interrogation is never as valuable as truth serum or mind-reading. So the only people who actually use the Cruciatus curse are the ones who enjoy the pain of others. But those people would still enjoy causing pain, even if the Cruciatus curse didn't exist."

Professor Sarutobi broke eye contact with Neville, and regarded the room with a grave expression. "There is a reason that I'm telling you these things. The reason is that no matter what you might think, none of you are ever completely safe. There are always those willing to serve the Dark, and they will use anything they can to accomplish their goals. Which is why Defense Against the Dark Arts isn't just a class. It's a mindset, a commitment to protecting yourself and others. You must know the dangers, and be prepared to use every weapon in your arsenal to overcome them."

Harry was suddenly overtaken by a memory of the end of his freshman year. Quirrell stood in front of him, but turned away. And staring at him from the back of the professor's head was a face from Harry's worst nightmares.

Harry remembered that Voldemort was still out there, and he would be coming back.

Harry felt as though he understood what Professor Sarutobi was trying to say. Voldemort had given off an aura that was pure evil. If it had been in Harry's power to kill him, shouldn't he have taken the chance? Wouldn't that keep other people from suffering at Voldemort's hands in the future?

Professor Sarutobi was still talking, bringing Harry out of his reverie.

"…And that brings me to your homework assignment for the first week. I want to show you all that Defense Against the Dark Arts is not a separate class, but a way of using every different branch of magical knowledge to protect against those who use magic to accomplish evil. To teach this lesson, I want you to write down everything you learn in your other classes. For every charm, spell, potion, plant, or magical beast that you encounter, I want you to come up with one way that it could be used to harm others. Then I want you to come up with two ways to counter that threat, to neutralize the danger. Be creative, and don't be afraid to look up new spells in the library. I'll see you later this week: class dismissed."

As the students began picking up their books to leave, the professor called Neville up to his desk.

"I'd like to speak with you for a minute, Mr. Longbottom." Harry noticed Neville's face was pale, whether in anger or fear Harry couldn't tell.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione waited outside in the hall by unspoken agreement, wanting to make sure that Neville was ok. Some time later he came out, looking a little pale but very thoughtful.

"What was that about?" Ron asked curiously. Neville jerked his head up, startled out of his private thoughts.

"Oh, nothing much," Neville said unconvincingly. They started walking back to the common room, not saying much. Then Neville burst out, "I'm going to do well in Defense Against the Dark Arts this year!"

"Of course you will, Neville!" Hermione said encouragingly. "We'll work with you if you want, right guys?"

Harry and Ron nodded. Harry could tell there was something Neville wasn't telling them, but it wasn't any of their business. It seemed that Professor Sarutobi had made quite an impression on him. Then again, the professor had made quite an impression on everyone. He seemed so sure that evil was lurking right around the corner, and so determined to go to any lengths to stop it.

Harry would have thought the man was paranoid, if it hadn't been for what he knew about Voldemort.

"Kind of a morbid homework assignment, don't you think?" Hermione asked after a minute. "Coming up with ways to hurt people based off of what we learn in our other classes?"

"Come on, Hermione," Ron said bracingly, "think of it as an exercise in imagination. I already have my idea for Potions: I'm going to hit Professor Snape over the head with my cauldron. I don't think I want to come up with ways to counter that, though."

All four Gryffindors laughed, and returned to their common room after the strangest class they'd ever experienced. But even as Harry bantered back and forth with his friends, he couldn't help but feel as though there were storm clouds on the horizon. What evil was lurking out there in the world, and would he be ready for it when the time came?


	5. The Professors At Tea

**A/N: **Let me take a moment to address something a few readers have brought up; namely, Orochimaru's selection of Lucius as the first person in the Potterverse to receive the Curse Seal. It is true that Orochimaru is selective, and it's also true that most people die after receiving the seal (which is _why_ he's selective), but that definitely doesn't rule Lucius out. Orochimaru has done his research, and knows that Lucius was once a follower of Voldemort. Since Lucius still possesses wealth and power post-Voldemort, Orochimaru was impressed by Lucius' ability to swing with life's punches and come out on top. And even though the chapter ended before we found out, I'll give you a spoiler: Lucius survives. As far as I'm concerned he's one of the most dangerous and powerful Dark wizards in canon, and definitely capable of living through the ordeal of receiving the Curse Seal. Think of Lucius as Orochimaru's new Kabuto – a boot-licking scumbag who's going to take any opportunity to grab power for himself.

That's definitely enough from me, so on with the story. In this very short chapter my two favorite professors are going to sit back and have nice chat, about life, magic, and a green-eyed boy with a tragic destiny.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Naruto or Harry Potter

**Chapter 4: The Professors At Tea**

Once the day's lessons were over, Hiruzen packed up a few loose papers and headed back to his quarters. If he got right to work, there would be enough time before dinner to grade the essays he'd assigned the N.E.W.T students. If he could pull that off, he'd have the entire weekend free.

It was strange, and yet liberating, to have nothing more pressing on his plate than correcting essays. Hiruzen found that he enjoyed the paperwork in his new job much more than he ever had as the Third Hokage. It wasn't surprising, though, since behind every sheaf of paper on the Hokage's desk were the lives of men and women. While the Third Hokage often ordered young people to their deaths, Professor Sarutobi was only concerned with improving their minds. He had all the satisfaction of teaching, with none of the burden of responsibility. If it wasn't for the threat of Orochimaru, Hiruzen would have thought that teaching at Hogwarts was the retirement of his dreams. But the Snake Sannin was a threat that he couldn't ignore, which was why a free weekend did not mean relaxation for Hiruzen. No, a free weekend meant strengthening the castle's defenses, connecting with Professor Dumbledore's contacts, and preparing himself for the inevitable rematch against his one-time student.

Upon arriving at the entrance to his quarters, Hiruzen noticed a white envelope affixed to the door with a Permanent Sticking Charm. It was weak enough that it faded when he tugged gently at the envelope. The letter contained in the envelope was just a few words written in Professor Dumbledore's elegant, looping scrawl.

_Dear Professor Sarutobi,_

_I would be honored if you could spare some time this afternoon for tea in my office. I'm looking forward to hearing about your first week at Hogwarts._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Albus_

_I guess I won't be grading those papers after all, _Hiruzen thought wryly. Not that he was too upset; he'd been meaning to catch up with Professor Dumbledore, but had been preoccupied with all of the (admittedly enjoyable) time-consuming duties that accompanied teaching. It would be a good idea to find out what the Headmaster had discovered about Orochimaru. And on an even more basic level, Hiruzen was looking forward to a conversation with a man whom he had started to respect almost as much as his own sensei.

After depositing his stack of papers on the desk in his office, the Third left for Dumbledore's study. While passing through the halls, Hiruzen couldn't help but feel strengthened by the sight of so many determined young witches and wizards walking here and there. Though no one in this universe had heard of the Will of Fire, Hiruzen could feel it in the air around him. This school was a place to be cherished and protected, a place where the next generation of magic-users would learn how to use their powers responsibly. Hiruzen would never allow Orochimaru to get his poisonous hooks into these children.

Hiruzen reached the gargoyles that guarded the staircase to Dumbledore's study. "Lemon drop," he said, watching with bemusement as the gargoyles stepped aside. No matter how many times he saw it, it never got old.

Professor Dumbledore was sitting at his desk, bent over a sheaf of papers. Hiruzen sympathized. When the Headmaster heard the door close he looked up, his eyes twinkling at his colleague.

"So glad you could make it! Please, come in. There's tea and biscuits, and an assortment of a few of my favorite sweets."

Hiruzen inclined his head politely, and took a seat in one of two comfortable armchairs positioned next to an elegant wooden table, on top of which was placed tea and a tray of snacks. The armchairs hadn't been there last time Hiruzen had visited the Headmaster, which meant they must have been transfigured. Hiruzen still couldn't believe the control which wizards in this world exerted over their surroundings. To think that one could transform an inanimate object into a living thing, and vice versa, with nothing more than a flick of a wand! It was truly astonishing.

Hiruzen poured tea into two china cups, politely filling Dumbledore's before his own. The Headmaster left his desk and sat down in the second armchair, letting out a contented sigh as he sank into the comfortable cushion. He helped himself to a pale, white bean, which Hiruzen knew must be a Bertie Bott's Every Flavor bean. He still couldn't understand the attraction of a sweet that only rarely tasted like something a rational person would want to eat.

"Thank you for the invitation," Hiruzen began. "I've been looking forward to meeting with you again, though I'm afraid the students have been keeping me busy."

Dumbledore cocked his head to one side, obviously interested. "How are you doing? What are your thoughts following your first week of classes here?"

Sarutobi sipped his tea, savoring the flavor. English tea was quite different from what he was used to, but he found it was quite satisfying. "That's rather a difficult question, Albus. I'm experiencing quite a bit of culture shock. Where I come from, the kind of abilities that you take for granted would have been prized as military assets of the greatest importance. The lack of discipline I see in even the most talented seventh-year students is very disturbing to me. At the same time, the greatest wish of my predecessors as well as myself has always been a peaceful society. So what I perceive as a shocking state of vulnerability is also what I've always wished that Konoha could have been."

Dumbledore nodded seriously. "Perhaps we are peaceful now, but I agree with you that we are vulnerable. The magical world has become complacent, willing itself to forget about the horrors of war. Anything you can do to prepare these children for what they might have to face will be a great service to our world."

"I'm doing my best," Hiruzen replied. "I believe that the younger students, in particular, are proving receptive to the lessons I most want to teach. They have the most flexible approach to thinking about their own magic, so they don't resist when I try to shake up their preconceptions. Some of the older students are unwilling to reevaluate what they think they know about magic."

After disposing of an oatmeal cookie, Professor Dumbledore turned once again to face Hiruzen. "Speaking of the younger students, what do you think of the second-year Gryffindors?"

Hiruzen shot a shrewd glance at Dumbledore, who tried and failed to maintain his disinterested façade.

"All of the second-year Gryffindors? Or do you mean Harry Potter?"

Dumbledore sipped his tea before sighing ruefully. "You've been busy, I see."

"I simply thought it was strange for a boy to have a lightning-shaped scar. A little research was enough to find out everything I could possibly want to know about the Boy Who Lived."

Hiruzen paused, watching Dumbledore to ascertain the effects of his next words. "Everything, that is, except for what he's actually like. The boy himself, and not his image."

He could see Dumbledore's eyes fill with understanding, and a startling amount of sadness. "Yes, Harry's life has not been easy. But in spite of the neglect he survived when growing up, in spite of the notoriety he's had to deal with since entering the Wizarding World, he has remained the pure-hearted, courageous boy I always hoped he could be."

"Nothing I have seen contradicts that evaluation," Hiruzen answered. "He is fairly quiet, and a little more serious than his yearmates. He has seen suffering, I could tell that easily enough."

The sad twinkle in Dumbledore's eyes reappeared. "Just last year he survived a second attempt by Lord Voldemort to kill him. Despite all of my efforts to the contrary, fate seems determined to target this poor boy."

Hiruzen was silent for a moment, thinking of another boy marked by fate. In his mind's eye Naruto appeared, his bright smile shining just as clearly as it ever had in reality. He could almost hear the brash genin demanding a C-rank mission, or declaring that he would one day become Hokage. Watching Naruto grow, both as a shinobi and a kind, loving individual, had been simultaneously the most rewarding and heart-breaking experiences of Hiruzen's life. Rewarding because Naruto always justified Hiruzen's faith in the young boy. Heart-breaking because Minato's son should never have had to face such hardships in the first place.

"I can see you care a lot for Harry," Hiruzen said after a while. "I promise you I'll watch out for him, as much as if he was my own son. I won't stand by helplessly while a child carries a burden too heavy for one set of shoulders. Not again."

"You sound like you've experienced something like this before."

Hiruzen shared Naruto's story with Professor Dumbledore, telling all of the details, not holding back any of his regrets. When he was done he felt relieved, as if sharing his guilt and grief had lessened them. Dumbledore looked very thoughtful, staring at his tea cup as if it held the answers to impossible questions.

"I wonder…" Dumbledore began, looking up to meet Hiruzen's eyes. "Our worlds seem so different, yet at the same time so alike. You and I both know the shame of having a student betray everything we hold dear. And this Naruto of yours seems much like Harry: alone from birth, alive through the grace of a parent's love, yet marked by an evil no one should have to face alone."

"You're right," Hiruzen agreed. He put down his teacup and steepled his hands together underneath his chin. "In many ways our respective worlds mirror each other."

Dumbledore shifted a little in his armchair, looking up for a second at the ceiling. "Do you think our worlds are linked in some deeper way than distance? That we are two sides of the same coin, sharing a pattern and perhaps even a destiny?"

"Perhaps," Hiruzen replied. "But the coin must have more than two sides, for surely there are other worlds out there. Completely apart, yet separated by a screen thinner than a butterfly's wing."

Dumbledore smiled, his eyes seeing past the wooden ceiling and into eternity.

"No matter what the differences, we are linked by the same passions. The same love and the same hatred, tying us together and splitting us apart. The same patterns spin themselves out again and again, all simply variations on a grander theme. But are the extraordinary similarities between your world and mine the norm? Or is there something more linking us, making our realities like two matching socks in a pair?"

"What would that make me?" Hiruzen asked with a wry smile. "A loose thread?"

Dumbledore stopped looking at the ceiling, and popped a Bertie Bott's Every Flavor bean in his mouth before responding. "Perhaps. Yet I think that analogy doesn't quite do you justice. You are a fuse, waiting only for a spark before you set our world on fire."

"Oh dear," Hiruzen said, "I should hope not. I don't want to be the instrument of any more suffering, in any world."

Dumbledore shook his head in polite denial. "In principle I agree. But fire can be cleansing. It can be a herald of rebirth."

The Headmaster got out of his armchair and walked over to a metal stand next to a bookshelf. He removed a cloth, revealing a birdcage housing the most unusual creature Hiruzen had ever seen. It was a magnificent bird, its plumage a rich mixture of red and orange, though the colors weren't quite as vibrant as Hiruzen thought they should be.

"This is a phoenix," Dumbledore said. "His name is Fawkes, and he's an old friend of mine. At the end of a phoenix's life it gets old, and its feathers lose their luster. But when a phoenix dies, it bursts into flame, and a new phoenix is born amidst the ashes."

Dumbledore sat back down in his armchair, regarding Hiruzen with a grave expression. "I think our world is heading toward a time of fire. It is my earnest hope that with your help, that fire will bring new life."

After wordlessly requesting Dumbledore's permission, Hiruzen lit his pipe and sent a few smoke rings spiraling upward. "I have more experience with rebuilding what is broken than I care to remember. But then, so do you. You guided the Wizarding world into its present era of peace after Voldemort's fall, and I rebuilt my village after its near destruction by the Nine-Tailed Fox. If we work together, we can create a peace so strong that nothing can threaten it. And if we do our job right, these young witches and wizards will never have to know the dangers we've faced."

Dumbledore refilled both of their cups with tea, and lifted his own for a toast. "To a brighter future!"

The Third Hokage returned the toast before lifting his pipe to his mouth once again.

The two old men sat in companionable silence, feeling a unity of purpose that bound them together with ties stronger than steel, ties that breached the gulf between worlds.


	6. Conversations and Confrontations

**A/N:** Happy holidays everybody! I'm still working mostly on Rise of the Uchiha, but this chapter is a Christmas/New Years present for my sister, who wanted me to write something a little less depressing for a change.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Naruto or Harry Potter. Any dialogue that is the same as canon belongs to J.K. Rowling.

**Chapter 5: Conversations and Confrontations **

About a week into the new term, the professors at Hogwarts became aware that there was something different about their students this year. It took them a few days to notice that anything was odd, and even then many kept their observations to themselves because they feared their coworkers would laugh at them. But news tends to spread, and after an offhand comment here and there, a muttered exclamation or two, the teaching staff at Hogwarts realized that they weren't crazy; something really was different.

"It's remarkable," as Professor McGonagall observed to Professor Vector over tea one day, "but I've noticed a dramatic increase in student participation and interest in the material. It used to be just the Ravenclaws and the Granger girl asking questions, but now I've got all manner of students stopping by my office to inquire about spells that we covered in class. For a while I thought the House-Elves had put something in the pumpkin juice; I mean, only yesterday morning I caught Fred and George Weasley actually paying attention. They were taking notes, for heaven's sake!"

The austere Septima Vector nodded over the rim of her china cup. "It's not just you, Minerva. I decided to cover Exponential Enchantments in my N.E.W.T. class this year, something my predecessor took out of the curriculum because they were so difficult. Not only have I not heard any complaints, I've had students come to me to ask about learning how to counter Exponential Enchantments with the Logarithmic Incantation, which I never even mentioned. They must have researched the subject matter outside of class, and with the amount of work I assign that's no mean feat. In fact, I've never encountered anything like this in my twenty years as an educator – maybe a group of Ravenclaws pushing each other to hit the books, but not spread throughout all four houses."

Professor McGonagall gave a wry smile. "It's almost strange enough to make me want to talk to the Headmaster about it. But if I do, I have this irrational feeling that things will go back to the way they were. Students taking such an interest in learning; I tell you, Septima, it almost makes me feel young again. To work with students so determined to learn is a blessing - it's why I became a teacher in the first place."

"I agree with you there, Minerva. Whatever it was that made so many students decide to take an active hand in their education, I hope it keeps working!"

That conversation was repeated, in different forms and with different subjects, throughout the entire teaching staff. Professor Sprout was overwhelmed with the growth of interest in plants and their use in potions and as alternative security measures. She was a little put off that so many of the students expressed interest in the more bloodthirsty qualities of the plants in her curriculum, but for every student who seemed a little too excited by her description of the Devil's Snare there seemed two more who wanted to know about how to use plants to heal.

Professor Binns was seen talking to the other ghosts, in a slightly more animated fashion than normal, about how students had asked him after class about whether or not the tactics he discussed in his section on Britain's Wizarding Military History still applied in modern magical skirmishes.

Professor Snape, to no one's particular surprise, did not seem pleased at all about the sudden increase of interest in his subject. Anyone foolish enough to approach him outside of his class hours risked losing house points.

Professor Flitwick, on the other hand, was so delighted with the flood of students asking about how to most effectively wield and counter charms used in wizard duels, that he decided to revive the Hogwarts Dueling Club. After receiving permission from Professor Dumbledore he started working on flyers, and began to think which of the professors he could ask to assist him.

As for Professor Sarutobi, he was tickled pink that his ongoing homework assignment had started such a riot of studying. Not all students were buying into the idea that Defense Against the Dark Arts extended into every other discipline, but for those who did, it was clear that thinking about ways to apply their lessons made classes all that much more enjoyable. For many students, the assignment opened them to the idea that what they were learning was real and important - it was, in fact, potentially the difference between life and death. But even if the students didn't quite share Hiruzen's belief that danger lurked around every corner, they still considered their Defense Against the Dark Arts assignments to be "jolly good fun."

In fact, the second-year Gryffindors were so taken with Professor Sarutobi's message that they decided to meet in the common room every other night, in order to go over what they'd learned in class. The idea was heartily endorsed by Hermione, who maintained that they all should have listened to her last year when she tried to start a study group.

They were sometimes joined by a few of the older students, most often Fred and George, who never failed to come up with the most interesting and creative ideas.

One Friday night, several weeks into the fall term, the Gryffindors were meeting as usual in the common room. Fred and George had brought a case of butterbeer, which they offered freely to everyone. Harry, having been on the receiving end of more than a few of the twins' pranks, took a cautious sniff and waited for Dean to drink from his bottle first. But after a few seconds passed without Dean showing any obvious signs of foul play, Harry took a deep pull from his butterbeer and sighed with contentment.

When everyone had their own drink, Fred put the lid back on the case with a flourish. "Right then, chaps, shall we get on? Because George and I have-"

"Some devilishly clever applications for our latest Charms lesson that we want to unveil this week," his brother chimed in without missing a beat.

Fred nodded, and grinned wickedly at the second-years. "And we're willing to pay top Galleon to anyone brave enough to act as a guinea pig."

Harry lost no time in shaking his head, followed immediately by all of his classmates.

"No takers?" George looked crestfallen, then shrugged and turned to Fred. "Looks like we'll have to kidnap a few Slytherin firsties. Anyway, we'll wait to share our idea until later. This is your study group after all; it would be bad form to start with our work, brilliant as it is."

Hermione, who was sitting on a couch in between Lavender and Parvati, visibly perked up at the chance to direct the group. "I wanted to ask about Mandrakes. I mean, I can see how it would be easy for a Dark wizard to hurt people by using the cry of the Mandrake, but what could we do to counter it?"

"Easy," Lavender said, "wear the sound-cancelling earmuffs from class."

Hermione was going to reply, but Ron beat her to it. "Right, but a Dark wizard probably isn't going to announce that he's about to off you with a Mandrake, right? He'll be somewhere you can't see him, and by the time you know something's wrong it's too late. You've already snuffed it. So unless you wear sound-canceling earmuffs all the time, they won't do any good."

"Hold up, Ronniekins," George said, making an exaggerated "slow down" gesture. "Why couldn't the Dark wizard be a girl?"

"Yeah," Fred continued, wagging a finger at Ron mockingly. "What would Mum say if she heard you claiming that women can't be as evil as men?"

George nodded at his twin knowingly. "Probably off him with a Mandrake."

Harry laughed along with Dean, Seamus, Lavender, Parvati and the twins. Ron's face grew redder and redder as he tried to splutter that that wasn't what he'd meant at all. Hermione coughed loudly, trying to bring the group back on topic.

"As glad as I am to hear that gender equality extends to the Dark Arts, I think we're getting a little away from the question. And it seems important - I mean, since nobody wears earmuffs normally, what's to stop someone from bringing a Mandrake somewhere heavily populated and just leaving it? It would be as bad as a bomb." Hermione saw a few uncomprehending looks coming from the purebloods, so she hastened to explain. "That's a Muggle device that explodes."

Harry had been enjoying his butterbeer, only half listening to the conversation, but now he put his whole mind to the problem. What could one do to protect against an attack that one literally couldn't see coming? It gave Harry chills to think that he could be so vulnerable to something as unassuming as a plant.

From the slightly worried looks on his classmates' faces, Harry could see they were having the same thoughts that he was. Then, to everyone's surprise, Neville spoke up. The slightly chubby Gryffindor squeaked on the first syllable, and blushed deeply when everyone looked at him. But his voice, when he spoke, was more confident even than the day he'd faced down Harry, Ron, and Hermione outside the Tower.

"There's actually a way to make yourself permanently safe from the cry of the Mandrake. I, uh… I read about in a book that Professor Sprout gave me. The healers who grew Mandrakes for restorative potions wanted to make sure that they would never be at risk, so they experimented to find out what exactly Mandrake cries affected. What they discovered was that the specific resonance of the cry reaches the inner ear, bounces off, and sends a signal to the brain to shut down all activity in the body. But by altering the shape of their inner ear through advanced Transfiguration, they changed the specific signal so that it wasn't fatal any more. The procedure is really painful, but it's safe."

Ron looked from Neville to Harry with astonishment, and back to Neville. Then he turned accusing eyes on Hermione, who was looking slightly bemused. "How come you didn't know about this?"

Hermione sniffed disdainfully, and tossed her hair over one shoulder. "Contrary to popular opinion, as well as my own inclination, I don't know everything, Ronald."

Harry looked at Neville with wonder. Was this the same Neville who had trouble with the simplest spells, and squeaked every time Professor Snape even looked at him? That might have been the longest speech he'd ever heard from Neville.

Hermione turned away from Ron, and addressed Neville eagerly. "That sounds like it would work, and without any drawbacks, as long as your hearing isn't damaged. But it makes me wonder why all magical children don't have the procedure at birth; then they'd be permanently safe from at least one magical danger. Just like a vaccination, for mumps or the chicken pox."

Dean and Harry nodded agreement, hoping none of the other students would ask for clarification. Hermione's explanation of how vaccinations worked would likely be longer and more detailed than a biology teacher's.

"Well," Neville replied, seeming to gain a little more confidence from Hermione's reply, "they might if Mandrakes posed any real threat. But they are extremely rare in the wild, so much so that every known location where they grow is under surveillance by experienced wizards. And there are really strict rules governing who can own Mandrakes or grow them on their own. In Britain, I think there are only the ones at Hogwarts, St. Mungo's, and a few licensed potion shops that sell Mandrake restoratives."

Neville looked around the room, which was filled with Gryffindors looking at him slack-jawed, and turned bright red. Harry decided to help him out.

"Stop staring, you lot, haven't you ever read a book before? Let's move on from Mandrakes, I think Neville's pretty much exhausted them. Fred and George, what did you two want to share with us?"

Neville mouthed quiet thanks, and Harry responded with a thumbs up. The conversation moved on, but Harry made a mental note not to overlook Neville in the future. There was a lot hiding under his unassuming exterior, and Harry was beginning to think it was starting to come out into the open.

oOoOo

Early Saturday morning a bewildered Harry was shaken awake by Oliver Wood, the captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team. "We've got practice, Harry, come on. We've got to work hard if we want to win the Quidditch Cup this year. We would have had it last time, if not for… well, you remember."

Harry felt conflicted. On the one hand, he still harbored a little guilt at being unconscious during the Quidditch championship last year. On the other, it was still dark outside, and he felt as though practicing before dawn was a little bit much. He was debating the merits of telling Wood to sod off when the captain pulled him from his bed.

"Come on, let's go."

Harry was too sleepy to do more than protest weakly a few times. In minutes he was dressed, and followed Wood down to the common room. Katie Bell, Alicia Spinnet, and Angelina Johnson were already there, shooting dark looks at Wood and rubbing sleep out of their eyes. Nobody had the courage to say anything until Wood dragged the Weasley twins down from the fourth-year room. They proceeded to loudly complain until Wood threatened to hex them into submission.

"Right, you lot," Wood said, seeming far too chipper for so early in the morning. "I've booked the pitch for today, and we're going to make good use of it. Slytherin is looking strong this year, and the other squads aren't bad either. Cedric Diggory is always a threat, and Ravenclaw has some likely new prospects. We'll swing by the Great Hall on the way to the pitch, so grab some toast and a glass of orange juice as we go."

"Are you serious, Wood? We're only human, you know!" Fred exclaimed with outrage.

"Altitude is determined by your attitude, not your aptitude. So look at this as an opportunity to reach new heights, and quit your whining!"

"You know, that made no sense at all," Fred observed to his twin.

George nodded wisely, adding, "These inspirational speeches never do. I don't think we have a choice in the matter, though. Wood's on the warpath this year."

Harry shuffled along with his teammates through the halls, trying his best to ignore the muttered complaints coming from the paintings. In the Great Hall he managed to snag a few pieces of toast and cover them liberally with marmalade before Wood ushered them out, looking for all the world like a sheepdog herding a group of grumpy, sleepy sheep. The only other students at breakfast were a few Ravenclaws snatching hurried bites of food while pouring over their Arithmancy homework. That made Harry feel a little bit better as he was leaving; at least he was getting up early to play Quidditch. Things could have been worse.

When they reached the pitch the sky was just beginning to lighten. Harry was grateful, not for the first time, for the simple warming charm Wood had taught him that kept the early morning chill from settling into his bones.

When they were properly warmed up after a few drills, Harry didn't miss his bed at all. There was nothing as invigorating as the feel of wind ruffling his hair as he soared far above the Quidditch pitch. Now that sleep was just a wistful memory, everyone was starting to get infected by Wood's drive. The chasers were passing with unusual precision, and Fred and George were keeping their goofing off to a minimum.

Soon the sun was above the horizon, and Harry was both embarrassed and a little pleased to see his friends coming down from the castle. They must have just finished breakfast, and decided that watching the Gryffindor team practice was a better use of the weekend than studying. Under the eyes of their fellow Gryffindors, the team's play became even better. They were playing to the audience, but also treating the practice just as if it were a game. Harry made some spectacular catches, and was starting to feel that Wood's goal of winning the Cup this year was easily within reach.

Harry was dismayed when he saw that Colin Creevey was with them. The first-year had a bad case of Potter fever, and his obsession with getting Harry's autograph on a photo was extremely annoying. He seemed to be taking an inordinate number of pictures of Harry, and waved whenever he saw Harry looking in his direction. Harry just sighed, and tried not to let Colin distract him.

He ignored the first-year as much as he could, and threw himself into the practice. Harry was just beginning a steep dive after a dropped Quaffle when Wood blew his whistle. The six other team members flew to their Captain, who was watching the other end of the pitch with a worried expression.

Harry looked down to see what had attracted Wood's attention. After a second he realized what the problem was: the Slytherin Quidditch team, wearing their pristine green-and-silver robes and walking in formation toward the center of the pitch. Harry got a sinking feeling in his stomach. Whatever they wanted, he didn't think it was good news.

"What are they here for?" Katie asked. "Didn't you book the pitch for today?"

Wood nodded, but didn't answer. Fred grimaced, and shook a fist at the Slytherins. "Don't you worry, Wood. If they're here to make trouble we'll send them packing."

"Follow me, team," Wood said, gesturing to the ground. "Fred, George; let me do the talking."

Harry saw a familiar shock of silver-blond greasy hair, and proceeded to get a very bad taste in his mouth. What the hell was Malfoy doing on the Slytherin Quidditch team?

As they landed, Harry was reassured to see Hermione, Ron and Neville coming down to the pitch. The purely practical part of his mind was thinking that it would be nice to have a number advantage, just in the event that the Slytherins were planning something nasty.

Wood took the lead, heading straight for the Slytherin captain, Marcus Flint.

"What's this about, Flint? We booked the pitch for today."

Flint smirked, and Harry thought that he'd never seen anyone look so much like a troll. Except, perhaps, for Crabbe and Goyle, but Flint was full-grown and twice as nasty.

"That may be so, Wood, but we have special permission from Professor Snape to practice now." He brandished a small piece of paper in Wood's face.

"Let me see that." Wood snatched the paper and began to read it, his face growing redder with every word. Meanwhile, Harry moved to stand with Hermione, Ron and Neville, staring down Malfoy the whole time.

"Looks like you've got the pitch," Wood said at last. "Enjoy. It won't do you any good this year."

Fred, who had been remarkably good about keeping silent during this conversation, couldn't hold it in any longer. "Yeah, especially with ickle Draco as your Seeker. What's the matter, did everyone with any talent in Slytherin get sick and die?"

Draco scowled, but the other Slytherins only laughed. "Well," Flint replied, "Draco's father made us a very generous gift this year. Seven brand-new Nimbus 2001's. Pretty nice, don't you think?"

The Slytherins held out their brooms, and Harry couldn't help but be impressed. He knew from one of Ron's Quidditch catalogues that the new Nimbus was substantially faster even than his own broom. There were a few angry exclamations from the members of the team, and one from Ron that sounded more like envy.

Draco stepped forward, the smirk on his greasy face reaching from ear to ear. "That's right, my father decided to show his appreciation to his old house. Looks like you won't be able to hide behind your fancy broom this year, Potter. And as for those Cleansweeps you Weasleys are riding, well… let's just say you'd be better off keeping them in the broom cupboard."

Hermione bristled as only she could, like a lioness (a very small lioness) about to defend her pride. "At least no one on the Gryffindor team had to buy their way in! They got in on pure talent."

"No one asked your opinion," Malfoy snarled. "You filthy little Mudblood!"

The Gryffindors gasped, leaving Harry wondering why they all reacted so strongly. Whatever Draco had said, it must have been awful indeed. Ron was livid, his face almost exactly the same shade as Uncle Vernon's during one of his rages. His wand came out immediately, Spellotape and all, and he pointed it straight at Malfoy. "You… eat slugs, Malfoy!"

There was a burst of green light and Ron was thrown backwards off his feet. When he stood back up he looked grey and shaky. Hermione was walking over to him, looking concerned, when he fell to his knees and retched violently. A slew of slugs poured out of his open mouth, eliciting disgusted noises from Gryffindor and Slytherin alike. That was immediately followed by all of the Slytherin team bursting into laughter. Colin Creevey had his camera trained on Ron, and was snapping pictures as fast as his finger could click.

Harry whirled on them, together with the Weasley twins, and his hand was reaching for his wand to finish what Ron had started. He was interrupted by a puff of smoke directly between him and the rest of the Slytherins. When the smoke dispersed, standing in the middle of the erupting brawl was none other than Professor Sarutobi.

The Defense Professor raised an empty hand, and announced, "the next person to raise their wand hand will lose it."

No one took him up on his challenge. "Now," said Professor Sarutobi, "what happened here?"

Flint answered quickest, his loud voice running right over the scattered protests of the Gryffindors. "We were just about to start our practice, since Professor Snape gave us permission. But that Gryffindor got angry, and hexed our Seeker without any warning!"

There was an angry outcry from the Gryffindor team, which Sarutobi silenced with a chopping motion of his hand. "Lesson number one," he said to Flint, "don't lie to people if you don't know the extent of their information. Especially not to your superiors. I witnessed the entire altercation, and I have to say I am entirely disappointed with all of you. Especially you," the Professor pointed at Ron, who was still kneeling in the grass and throwing up waves of slugs. "You attacked in anger, with a weapon that you already knew was unreliable. This is a fitting punishment for such poor tactical execution. Of course, I will also have to give you a detention."

The Slytherins laughed again, and Hermione covered her face with one hand while she rubbed Ron's back with the other. The Professor turned back to face the Slytherins, who stopped laughing immediately. He pointed a finger accusingly at Flint.

"Don't think you're off the hook either, young man. For lying to a Professor you will also serve a detention. And then there's you," he finished, speaking now to Malfoy. Harry hid a grin behind his fist. Sweet justice.

"You called the young lady a name that is, I understand, one of the most offensive terms in your culture. That is also deserving of a detention, which you will serve together with Mr. Flint and Mr. Weasley. Actually, if I remember correctly, Mr. Potter has a detention pending for that unfortunate incident with the car at the beginning of term. The four of you, then, will meet in my office at 8pm tonight. Perhaps I can teach you a few things that will help you avoid such an embarrassing display in the future. Gentlemen."

And then the Professor disappeared with a sharp crack and a puff of smoke, exactly the way he'd first appeared. Malfoy looked disgusted, and Marcus Flint was ready to spit nails.

Wood spoke into the ensuing silence. "We'll see you on the pitch. Let's go, Gryffindors."

Harry stepped in to take Ron's left side, supporting him along with Hermione as they walked back up to the castle. Madame Pomfrey was going to give Ron merry hell for this one. As for himself, Harry had to admit that he was sort of looking forward to this detention. If nothing else, the novelty value of serving detention together with Malfoy and Marcus Flint proved to be substantial. And Harry felt fairly sure that Professor Sarutobi wouldn't be giving out your average, run-of-the-mill detentions. He'd just have to wait and see. Hopefully Ron's spell damage would wear out by then, though. No matter what the Professor had planned, it couldn't be enjoyable if Ron was busy belching slugs.

oOoOo

Hiruzen was sitting behind his desk, smoking his pipe and grading papers contentedly, when he was hit with a rush of memories from a dispersed shadow clone. It was hours before he'd ordered the clone to report, so he jumped to his feet on full alert before he sorted the memories out enough to be sure that there was no immediate danger.

He couldn't help but laugh. He'd decided to have one of his clones watching over Harry Potter whenever he wasn't sleeping or in class, as a way of potentially heading off any attacks by Voldemort or Orochimaru. Hiruzen had seen the way that Orochimaru could shed bodies, and if his old student was in the market for a new body in this world Harry Potter might be at the top of the list. He was young enough to make a valuable vessel, and his status as the Boy Who Lived would doubtless appeal to Orochimaru's sense of melodrama. What Hiruzen hadn't expected was for his clone to get caught up in a schoolyard brawl.

"My clone must have been getting a little antsy," Hiruzen drawled to Enma the Monkey King, who was currently in staff form and propped up against his chair. "Why else would he have decided to give out detentions? I wonder if a detention given by a clone is even valid? I'll have to ask Dumbledore. For now I'll just go with it. What should I do with them for two hours? Maybe some practice duels, just to get a better sense of how these children are in combat."

Hiruzen's spoken train of thought was broken by a rap at the door. "Come in," he called out. It was probably a student, come to ask about some application of a spell. He'd been very pleased with the effect that his homework assignment had had on the students. Even if it was only the novelty of the assignment that intrigued them, it was still getting them to start thinking more like warriors.

But when the door opened, it revealed Professor Severus Snape. Hiruzen's danger senses started tingling. He didn't know much about the Potions Professor, but for some reason he never failed to give Hiruzen a bad feeling. That feeling seemed to be mutual, because Hiruzen had noticed frequent glares coming from Snape during mealtimes, when he thought he was unobserved.

"How can I help you, Professor? Please, take a seat."

Snape waved off the offer of a chair, and faced Hiruzen with a look of mingled suspicion and distaste. "I've been meaning to talk to you for a while. I understand you're behind the recent obsession of the students with the Dark Arts?"

Hiruzen took a sip of tea, marshaling his thoughts for what looked to be a tense verbal battle. "That's not at all what I've been trying to do. I simply believe that the Dark Arts, as they are called here, are separated by a very thin line, if at all, from other realms of magic. Even spells invented for an evil purpose may be adapted to accomplish good. What's more, good and evil are in themselves extremely volatile terms. In my experience, they are often nothing more than names given to two opposing sides on a battlefield, and it always seems to be the victors who determine which side is which. My assignment is meant to prepare my students for dangers they may not take seriously, or even consider to be dangers at all."

Professor Snape regarded Hiruzen gravely, and his eyes looking like they were trying to see past Hiruzen's face and into his mind. "That's all very well," the Potions master said at last, "but many would argue that you are exposing these children to ideas that they are not nearly old enough to understand. How do you think parents would react if they were told that their children are being taught to think about all magic as a tool for evil?"

"I think their parents would understand the necessity of recognizing and fighting against evil. They lived through Voldemort's rise to power, after all, did they not? For that matter, so did you. Do you think that Hogwarts adequately prepared you for the horror that you fought against in the war? Where I come from, Professor Snape, our children are taught how to defend themselves as soon as they can walk. They are taught that everything can be a weapon, and that the only sure way to survive is to be too strong for anyone to think about attacking you. As a system it has its flaws, but being under-prepared is not one of them."

Professor Snape became more alert during his last few sentences, looking like a bloodhound that had suddenly caught a scent. "Is that so? Where is it that you come from, exactly? Japan, I understand. Yet I happen to know that Asian wizards use wands just like we do. Yet you have none."

Professor Sarutobi smiled blandly, trying to conceal the fact that his muscles were tensed to spring. "First, that isn't entirely correct. I wouldn't expect you to know this, but the use of wands didn't become common in my country until early in the 1800s. Commodore Perry, an accomplished wizard who made his living as a Muggle naval officer, brought a shipment of wands when he opened negotiations with the Japanese. The wizarding community resisted Western magical influence for a while, but by the Meiji Restoration we were using wands like any British wizard. Only a few small, isolated villages held to the old ways. I am from one of those villages, and our magical tradition goes back hundreds of years, handed down from parent to child in an unbroken chain to this very day."

"Very interesting, to be sure," Snape said, looking as though he believed the opposite. "One wonders why, if you're so proud of your unbroken magical tradition, you would choose to come teach at a school for magic so far from your village."

Sarutobi inclined his head politely, but this time his smile had a little bite to it. "Perhaps one might wonder, but I would feel no obligation to enlighten him or her. My own reasons for being here are no one's business but my own, and of course the Headmaster's, since he hired me. You notice I have never inquired about the interesting tattoo on your arm, even though it closely resembles a sign I have been told belonged to Voldemort's closest followers."

Snape clutched his arm as though it had been burned, and looked like he was considering drawing his wand. "Never fear, Professor, I have no intention of either spreading that knowledge or judging you for it. Wartime has driven me to make many decisions of which I am heartily ashamed. Dumbledore must vouch for you if you're teaching here, and his trust is more than enough for me. Please forgive me for being so rude; I hope I haven't given offense."

"Not at all." Snape's reply was forced through gritted teeth. "My… apologies, I did not mean to pry. I was simply curious."

Hiruzen was grinning on the inside, now that he'd managed to get the pushy Professor on the defensive. "Not at all, there's nothing to forgive. I can understand the desire to satisfy one's curiosity – it's an urge with which I am quite familiar. But if you don't mind, perhaps we might continue this conversation another time. I have quite a few essays to get through, and due to an overabundance of youthful spirit I have a detention to attend later tonight."

Snape inclined his head slightly, looking like he had inadvertently swallowed a lemon. "Of course. Until next time." He turned to go, but stopped before opening the door. He swung around, and forced his lips into a sickly semblance of a smile.

"I almost forgot. Professor Flitwick requested my assistance with a project he's planning, a Dueling Club. There will likely be a lot of interest, since students are always attracted to the showier aspects of magic. Another Professor would help keep them under control, and assure more personal attention." Snape paused, and there was an ugly light of satisfaction in his eyes. "And I'm sure the students would benefit greatly from someone who has experience with magical warfare. I confess, I myself am very curious about how you manage without a wand. It would be a learning experience for us all."

The Hokage inclined his head graciously. "I'm honored by your invitation. Just let me know when and where, and I'll make sure to attend."

"I'm looking forward to it." Snape turned and left, his cloak swirling around his ankles.

When he was gone, Hiruzen let out a sigh of relief and let himself relax. There was no doubt that he'd made a potential enemy out of the Potions Professor, and he would have to be careful not to give too much away at this Dueling Club. But having someone scrutinizing his every move was only too familiar for the Hokage. And Snape wasn't nearly as threatening as Danzo, even if he promised to be as annoying as the Council at its most intractable. No, the Potions Professor would be a good reminder for Hiruzen to keep on his toes.

He began to whistle, and went back to grading papers. He'd have to work quickly if he wanted to prepare for his quadruple detention later that night. Even if he couldn't stop students from fighting, he was by Kami going to make sure that they were smarter about it in the future. All he had to do now was come up with some way to make the lesson stick.


	7. Capture the Flag

**A/N: **Sorry for the long wait, everyone! All I can say is that I promise I won't drop this story, and I'll do my best to update semi-regularly, even if slowly. I know where the story is going (I even have a sequel roughly planned out) - it's just going to take a little while to get there. With that said, here's the next chapter, which features Sarutobi's detention. Enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Naruto or Harry Potter

**Chapter 6: Capture the Flag**

The atmosphere in Sarutobi's office was tense and filled with ill-will. Harry and Ron stood side-by-side, as far away as they could get from Malfoy and Flint without appearing to be intimidated by the two Slytherins. It was time for their detention, but Professor Sarutobi hadn't appeared yet. Ron, Malfoy, and Harry had sent a few muttered comments at each other, but no one wanted to be the first to anger Professor Sarutobi _further_. And even though he wasn't immediately visible, none of them doubted that he would immediately appear in a puff of smoke, should any of them start making trouble.

However, Marcus Flint looked like trouble was the only thing he wanted to make. The tall, muscular seventh year was glowering at all of them, even Malfoy. Apparently serving a detention with second years wasn't something that he enjoyed. But then, Harry wasn't exactly thrilled, either. Flint looked like the troll that he, Hermione, and Ron had fought last year, only smarter and potentially meaner.

Harry had to remind himself that they _had_ beaten the troll, and even worse than that, too. Not even Flint, with his big, crooked teeth and his thick forehead, could hold a candle to the amount of fear that Quirrell had generated. Still, Quirrell wasn't here while Flint was, and the huge Slytherin looked about ready to start breaking some skulls.

To avoid looking at Flint, Harry sent his gaze around the room, taking in the interior of Professor Sarutobi's office. He'd never actually been inside it before, and it proved to be fascinating.

The biggest piece of furniture in the room was the heavy desk near the back wall – it was piled high with papers and implements for writing. To the right of the desk, pushed up against the far wall in a corner, was an over-sized trunk, made of gleaming mahogany and bolted tight with four different locks. On the wall above, there was a heavily embroidered square of fabric, almost like a flag. It featured a simple design that looked like a leaf. Shelves went from the floor about halfway to the ceiling on the side walls, and held an assortment of strange and fantastic implements. There were heavy scrolls piled haphazardly, and weapons of all sizes and descriptions. Harry had gotten the impression from Defense class that the Professor was no stranger to magical warfare, but he was surprised to see apparently non-magical weapons displayed so prominently.

Above the bookcases were numerous pictures of faces that were unfamiliar to Harry. There was a small boy with a blue scarf, and next to him a strong, gruff-looking man with black hair and a cigarette sticking out of the corner of his mouth. Another picture showed a tall man with blindingly yellow hair, who watched three younger children, two boys and a girl, with a tolerant smile on his face. There were more, but Harry stopped looking when he realized something odd.

"Ron," he whispered, and nudged his friend with his elbow when he saw that Ron wasn't listening. His friend was still sneaking glances over to where Malfoy was standing, each time his face getting redder and redder. It looked like Malfoy was mumbling things under his breath, no doubt trying to provoke Ron.

"Hey!" Ron exclaimed, affronted, after Harry's elbow landed in his stomach. "Blimey, that _hurt!_"

Harry snorted. "Sorry, mate," he said unapologetically. "But look at the pictures for a sec. They don't move!"

"You can't just go around _hitting _your best fr- wait, what?"

Harry shook his head impatiently. He pointed to the pictures. "See? None of them move."

"You're right. I dunno… maybe he's Muggleborn?"

There was a loud, derisive snort from Malfoy. Harry turned around, incensed. He wasn't about to let Malfoy start his Mudblood rant again, even if Flint was there to back him up.

"Listen, Malfoy-" he snarled, but once again a budding conflict was interrupted by a white puff of smoke. Professor Sarutobi appeared, looking amused. He looked over the four students, his expression guarded. He sighed, as if at a loss.

"Honestly, for a while I wasn't even sure where to begin with you four. But you all show such a profound lack of tactical awareness, even of common sense, that failing to address it would be a gross dereliction of my duty."

All four of them blushed, even Flint, although he followed with a glare that looked like he wanted to tear the Professor apart. Sarutobi eyed him for a second, a small smile on his face. "What, Mr. Flint? Do you disagree?"

Flint could only hold the Professor's gaze for a second, and then looked down at the floor in defeat. "No, Professor."

The Professor clapped his hands together, a sharp sound that made Harry start violently. "Well then! We'll use these two hours to work on tactics and teamwork. But first," he broke off, and peered at Ron owlishly. "Mr. Weasly, do you still have that travesty of a wand?"

Once again, Ron's blush spread all the way to the roots of his hair. "Yes, sir." He took out his Spellotaped wand and showed it to the Professor, while Malfoy and Flint sniggered in the background.

Professor Sarutobi frowned. "That certainly won't do. It's worse than going around with a faulty exploding tag in your pack. Here, take this."

And just like that, he tossed a wand through the air towards Ron, who almost fumbled the catch. His expression was stunned, disbelieving. Harry felt the way Ron looked, and was still trying to figure out where the wand had come from. He hadn't even seen the Professor's hand move, it had been that fast. The Professor explained, heedless of the Gryffindors' consternation.

"I have a few spare wands, in case any… _accidents_… befall students in my class. It's best to be prepared. Don't look at me that way, Mr. Weasley, it's not charity. A wand is necessary for self-defense, and I _will not_ have my students unprotected. Return it at the end of the school year, or whenever you manage to get to Ollivander's and buy a replacement. All right?"

Ron nodded, his eyes still fixed on the wand, as if a magnetic force kept him in thrall. He waved the wand carefully, and a shower of sparks shot out. That acted as a reminder, and he looked up at Professor Sarutobi with round eyes.

"Thank you so much, Professor!"

Sarutobi's eyes twinkled, and for a second Harry was strongly reminded of Dumbledore. "Not at all, Mr. Weasley," the Professor said. "As I told you, no student of Hogwarts will ever be without the means to protect themselves. Now, I think we had better begin tonight's lesson before we lose any more time."

"What is tonight's lesson?" Flint asked aggressively, and then added a belated, "… Professor."

Sarutobi adjusted his huge white hat, and smiled at them beatifically. "You will soon find out. Follow me, please, gentlemen."

He walked over to the trunk that Harry had seen in the corner of the office, and his hands flashed in a series of strange signs. All four locks clicked open, leaving the students gaping. Wandless magic was something they knew existed, but to see it done so casually was stunning.

The Professor gestured at them, and waited expectantly. Harry spoke first, not understanding. "Professor?"

"Come on, then," Sarutobi urged. "Get in the trunk."

_What?_

But curiosity overcame confusion, and the four students came forward hesitantly to peer in the trunk. There they saw a flight of stairs, which descended and opened up into a room that was blocked from their view by the back interior wall of the trunk. The staircase itself was much too large to be contained in the trunk, and that was disregarding the room that lay at the bottom. Harry looked at the Professor, amazed.

"One of the many wonders of Diagon Alley," the Professor said with a smile. "It cost me quite a bit, but you never know when something like this will come in handy. Now, if you would proceed in an orderly fashion down the stairs, we can begin."

Flint went first, pushing aside the second-years with his broad shoulders. Malfoy went second, a fact which annoyed Ron but Harry welcomed. He'd rather not have Malfoy behind him while walking into an unknown location.

To his surprise, Harry saw Professor Sarutobi watching him closely. A knowing look came over the Professor's face. "Well done, Harry. I hope it didn't escape your notice that if you desired, you could close the lid and shut them down there for a very long time. Never leave your enemy behind you."

There was a terrified squawk from further down the stairs, and Harry's jaw dropped. The Professor had known exactly what he'd been thinking.

"Don't worry, Mr. Malfoy," the Professor called down. "I'm not going to shut you in there. But I will take one point from Slytherin, because the two of you tried to engage in an adolescent game of supremacy when you should have been maneuvering for position. Going first only means that you present a better target for whoever's second – remember that."

Sarutobi gestured at Harry and Ron to follow the two Slytherins into the trunk. They did so, although Harry kept looking back up, half believing that the Professor was about to shut them in there. Guessing the direction of his thoughts, Sarutobi chuckled. Then he came down the stairs as well, leaving the lid of the trunk open above them.

At the bottom step, the stairs opened up into a room larger than any Harry had ever seen, with the exception of the Great Hall. It was a wide, open space, with torches affixed to brackets and evenly spaced along the wall. There was also light coming from above, and when Harry looked up he saw bright, luminescent balls of white light hovering high in the air.

On the far wall were racks and racks of weapons of all shapes and sizes. Harry recognized swords and spears, but others were less familiar. Why, for instance, would anyone want a giant sickle-shaped blade attached to the end of a chain? Next to the weapons was a long row of dummies, stuffed with straw and attached to a metal brace that kept them upright. Each dummy had a bulls-eye painted on their chest, and a smaller one on their head. To Harry's dismay, he saw that at least one of the dummies had knives sticking out from the center of the targets.

"I call this Training Ground One," Sarutobi announced, sweeping one arm out to indicate the room. "Not nearly adequate, but it will serve for now. Now, gather round, and I'll outline the rules for tonight's lesson."

The students formed a loose semi-circle around the Professor. He took a few puffs of his pipe, and then began to speak.

"In my village, our youth train for magical combat by pitting themselves against each other in tests of strength and skill. That is what I am going to have you do tonight."

A huge grin stretched across Flint's face. Harry and Ron exchanged worried looks.

"This is an exercise in teamwork. There will be two teams of two, and you must work together to achieve your objective."

"What's the objective?" Flint asked, his anticipation growing.

Sarutobi looked down his nose at the seventh-year. "Mr. Flint, I regret to say that I do not have time to impress upon you the value of patience. However, please trust me when I tell you that it is a virtue to be cultivated."

Flint looked confused, as if he was still processing the sentence. Harry had to put his hand over his mouth to keep from sniggering.

"Now," Sarutobi continued, "if you will direct your attention to the center of the dojo, you will see the boundary of this contest."

Sure enough, there was a thick white line that extended around the entire floor, only a few yards away from the walls. Sarutobi said something that Harry couldn't quite make out, and then something amazing happened.

First there was a rumbling beneath their feet, and the ground began to shake. Then, within the boundary line, huge spikes of rock exploded from below, like giant teeth in an open maw. From their vantage point across from the middle of the field, the students could see that the spikes covered the entire floor, with the exception of two circular areas on either side. Inside those areas were flags, one in each circle, each a different color.

Sarutobi pointed at each flag. "Those are your objectives. Each team will attempt to bring the other team's flag inside their circle, without losing their own flag. The only rules are that deadly force is not allowed, and that you must stay inside the boundary line. Understood?"

There was a chorus of, "Yes, Professor!"

Then Ron turned to Harry, and hefted his new wand with a sense of purpose. "Right, mate," he grinned, "let's show these two what it means to be a Gryffindor!"

Sarutobi coughed. "Forgive me, I wasn't clear. The teams will be Mr. Weasley and Mr. Flint against Mr. Malfoy and Mr. Potter."

Ron's face fell, and he muttered a curse under his breath. "But Professor," Malfoy protested, "that's unfair! Potter is useless!"

"Watch it, Malfoy!" Harry spat.

Professor Sarutobi was unmoved. "I will not change the teams. This isn't an opportunity for the four of you to play out silly rivalries. When you encounter Dark magic, are you going to whine about who is fighting with you? Or are you going to do your best to fight together, and survive?"

Malfoy seethed, still staring angrily at Harry. "There's only one right answer, Mr. Malfoy," Sarutobi said patiently. "Which is that you can't always choose your allies, but you had better be able to use them to their fullest potential. Hence this exercise. Now, both teams go to your flags, and I will start the contest."

Harry waved sadly at Ron, who turned and followed Flint to the left side of the jagged, rock-strewn course. Then he turned away, and marched stiffly with Malfoy to the second flag.

"Listen, Potter," Malfoy hissed, the hatred accentuating his sharp features, "if you screw this up I'll kill you. Got it?"

"Same to you, Malfoy," Harry shot back. "It's too bad you can't get your Daddy down here. Maybe he could pay Professor Sarutobi to let you win."

For a second Harry thought that Draco was going to pull his wand on him, but the heir of the House of Malfoy controlled himself with an effort. "Just pay attention, Potter," he snarled. "Flint knows the Stunning spell, Stupefy. It's his best spell, and since it doesn't kill, Professor Sarutobi won't stop him. One hit and we're done. So don't get hit."

Harry nodded slowly, surprised that Draco would share the information. Apparently the desire to win was strong enough to forge a little cooperation, no matter how grudging.

"We can use the spikes," he said, pointing at the rocky spears jutting up almost to the ceiling. They obscured the other half of the field from sight. "A straight spell will deflect off them, so if we stay close we can use them for cover."

Draco looked at the spikes, and back at the flag. "We have to protect our flag, though. We can't see more than a few feet because of these spikes, so how will we know if they're making a move on the flag?"

Harry nodded, the problem clear to him as well. "Right. If we go for the flag, we might not see them approaching ours. Then it's just hide-and-seek until Flint stuns us. But if one of us stays behind to guard it-"

Draco finished the sentence for him. "Then if they stay together, they'll have an advantage, whether they protect the flag or try and steal ours. And we won't be able to see them until they're right on top of us, thanks to those damn spikes."

The flag, which was as red as Ron's hair, seemed to laugh at them both. Harry weighed the options, and came to a decision. "So we guard our flag," he said at last. "We pick spots where we can see each other, and wait for them to try for our flag. That way we're guaranteed not to get outnumbered."

"Obviously, Potter," Draco drawled. "But do you even have any hex that will work?"

"Stow it, Malfoy. Of course I do." Harry was planning on using _Petrificus totalis_, the curse that Hermione had used on Neville when they went to find the Sorcerer's Stone at the end of last year. It would immobilize their opponents if it landed, giving him and Draco enough time to get the flag at the other end of the field.

Suddenly, Professor Sarutobi's voice echoed throughout the room, magically amplified. "It seems that both teams are ready. Begin!"

Harry tensed, and stared out into the sea of giant spikes. "Let's go. Do you want to watch out for them, or the flag?"

"I'll watch the flag," Draco said.

"All right," Harry agreed. "Let's go right, and stay close to the boundary."

The two second-years made their way into the maze of rock, staying near the white line of the boundary on the right side. They decided on a likely spike, large enough around that it provided good cover, and near enough to the flag that Draco could keep an eye on it.

Harry set himself to peering out across the field, watching for any sign of movement. It was like he was Seeking, but instead of a Golden snitch he was waiting for Ron or Flint. For a handful of minutes that seemed to stretch on infinitely, there was nothing. Then…

"Hold on," Draco muttered. "What the…"

"What is it?" Harry whispered.

Draco pointed at the flag. "That!"

Harry looked, and saw to his dismay that the flag was rising, slowly but surely, off of the ground. Comprehension dawned when Harry remembered a club rising into the air, only to fall onto a troll's head.

"It's Ron," he hissed. "He's using Wingardium Leviosa!"

"Well, stop him!" Draco snapped. "I'll go for their flag, around this side."

He was off before Harry had a chance to stop him, and he couldn't call out for fear of giving away his position. The flag continued to dance overhead, moving farther and farther away from its starting point. Harry quickly scanned to see where the flag was heading, and tried to figure out where Ron might be hiding. After a second, he picked the spike that he thought was most likely.

He crept in that direction, slipping from spike to spike. Soon, a shock of red hair came into view, and then Harry saw Ron's wand flicking about, directing the flag closer with small motions. Harry maneuvered until he had a clear shot, then raised his wand to immobilize Ron. He breathed a silent apology, then started the incantation. "_Petrificus Tot-"_

But Harry saw a flash of red out of the corner of his eye, and broke off his own spell in order to roll to the side. A jet of red light slammed into the spike behind him, gouging out a small piece of rock. Harry scrambled to get behind the spike, only just avoiding a second beam of light.

"_Stupefy_!" Harry heard Flint's voice yell out the spell again and again, hemming him in on both sides. He couldn't even poke his head out for fear that one of Flint's stunners would hit him.

"I've got it!" Ron's voice called out.

"Then go!" Flint yelled. "I'll hold him here."

Harry realized that if he didn't do something now, he was going to lose. There was no time to think, so he acted. He sent a Leg-Locker curse off to the left. He didn't even try to aim, since the important thing was the distraction that the spell afforded. Flint reacted like a cat sensing a mouse, and sent a Stunning spell in the direction of Harry's curse. Harry wasted no time, stepping to the right of the spike and sending a Body-bind curse straight at the seventh-year Slytherin.

Flint was standing right out in the open, and the green light caught him in the chest. He fell to the rocky ground, motionless and rigid. Harry sprinted off after Ron, but from the flash of red that he saw weaving in and out of the rocks ahead, he knew it was hopeless.

Just as Harry heard Ron's whoop of triumph, he saw Draco appear from behind another spike on his right.

"Did you get their flag?" Harry asked, panting.

"No," said Draco, confusion etched on his face. "It wasn't there."

"What? It must have been…" Harry trailed off, thinking. Then he groaned, and put his face in his hands. "Stupid, stupid, stupid! We didn't have to leave the flag where it was – we could have taken it with us!"

Draco only stared at him, an expression of horror growing. "No!"

"Yes!" came Professor Sarutobi's amplified voice. Then the ground shook, and a rumbling like thunder arose, and the giant spikes slid back into the earth. Harry saw Ron dancing around in his team's circle, holding aloft both flags and shouting with joy. He looked over his shoulder, where Flint was still quivering on the ground, unable to move.

Harry shrugged. Sometimes you had to appreciate the small victories.

Professor Sarutobi walked over to Harry and Malfoy, pausing to break the curse of Flint. The seventh-year stood up, looking murderous, and started toward Harry. In spite of himself, he took a step back. But Sarutobi put a hand on the older boy's shoulder, stopping Flint as surely as if he'd run into a wall.

"If you're quite finished with celebrating, Mr. Weasley," he called out to Ron, who was still capering about like a madman. Ron froze, and then turned around, looking a little sheepish.

"Sorry, Professor."

He walked over to join the group, looking more than a little smug. Harry grinned at Ron, happy in spite of himself. He had managed to take down Flint, and Ron had gotten the glory of a win. Not a bad detention.

"Not bad for a first try," Professor Sarutobi said judiciously. "You all did well, though there were some things you could improve on. Mr. Potter and Mr. Malfoy, you did well to determine that a defensive stance was the strongest position. However, you failed to anticipate any of the more sophisticated ways to steal the flag. Moreover, you didn't realize that there was no rule saying that your flag _had_ to stay within the circle. Mr. Weasley figured that out, and it opened up new tactical opportunities for his team. Well done, Mr. Weasley."

Ron was thoroughly pink at this point, with a heady mixture of embarrassment and pride.

"Mr. Flint," Sarutobi continued, turning to Marcus, "you performed admirably in protecting your teammate. I see you are unhappy about being incapacitated, but reflect that your sacrifice was what allowed your teammate to complete his objective. It is the ones who fall while protecting others who are most worthy of praise. However, your defeat was certainly avoidable. If you had made better use of the available cover, instead of advancing into the open once you thought you had the advantage, you would have been able to avoid Mr. Potter's curse."

"And finally, Mr. Malfoy," Sarutobi said, looking at the blond Slytherin. "Your instinct to go straight to the other flag was correct. But when you didn't find it there, you left to rejoin Mr. Potter. Next time, consider placing an ambush. Mr. Weasley let down his guard considerably when he neared his circle – in fact, I believe I saw him skipping at the end. A well-placed curse could have turned the game around."

It was hard to say who looked more chastened, Draco or Ron.

"In any event," Sarutobi said, "you have all shown some potential tonight, and I am satisfied. There is still half an hour left in your detention, but I think there is no harm done in sending you off early. I'll see you gentlemen in class."

He bowed politely, and motioned for them to leave first. Flint led the way, almost running, probably extremely glad to leave the place where he'd been immobilized by a second-year. Draco followed, but his face wore a more thoughtful expression. Harry walked with Ron, smiling and laughing as Ron gloated about his victory.

"Flint wanted to just charge ahead, but I convinced him to wait. 'It's just like chess,' I told him, and it worked! But I never…" his chatter brought them up the stairs, and by the time they were in the Professor's office once again, Harry was only half-listening.

Draco and Marcus Flint were already gone, having left immediately once exiting the trunk.

Harry and Ron were moving toward the door as well, when Harry heard the voice. It was cold and dark, and the sound of it sent shivers down Harry's spine.

"_Blood,_" it said, and Harry jumped. "_Give me blooood… Deliciousss blood…"_

Harry looked around wildly. "Did you hear that?" he demanded.

Ron looked at him as if he'd lost his mind. "Hear what? Have you gone bonkers, Harry?"

"No!" Harry said. "I just… I thought I heard something."

"It's in your mind, Harry," Ron assured him. "Nobody said anything."

Harry calmed down slowly, getting his pulse under control. He could have sworn he'd heard the voice, it had been as clear as day! And yet as blood-chilling as the worst nightmare he could imagine.

Then Professor Sarutobi appeared from out of the trunk, closing it behind him with a wave of his hand. He smiled kindly at the two boys, and paused when he saw Harry.

"You look pale, Mr. Potter. Are you ill?"

"What? …Uh, no, Professor. I'm fine."

"Well then," Professor Sarutobi said. "I look forward to our next class, and I hope that you won't wait for your next detention to practice what I've taught you!" He winked at them.

Harry nodded, feeling a little dazed, and followed Ron out into the hallway. "You sure you're all right, mate?" Ron asked, looking a little worried. "Maybe you should see Madam Pomfrey if you're hearing voices. I don't want you going barmy like my great-uncle Bilius!"

"No, I'm fine," Harry said, casting around for a way to change the subject. Then it came to him, and actually managed to put thoughts of disembodied voices out of his head.

He turned to Ron, his face lighting with excitement. "Hey, I think I've got an idea!"

"What's that?" Ron looked confused.

Harry gestured back at the door to Sarutobi's office. "Professor Sarutobi said to practice, right? I bet he meant it, too. We won't get better at any of this stuff if we don't work at it outside of class. I think we should try and get him to teach us – about tactics and all that stuff. What do you think?"

Ron caught on in a flash. "Blimey, that's brilliant, Harry! If we can get him to train us, we'll be the best spellcasters in Hogwarts! What I wouldn't give to challenge Fred and George to a duel, and clean the floor with them! Let's do it."

"We should tell Hermione," Harry said. "We'll do it together."

"I don't know," Ron hesitated. "Do you think she'll want to learn how to fight?"

"Well, it's only common sense to be better prepared," Harry said. "In case we run into another Quirrell."

Ron's eyes hardened as he remembered the trials they'd faced while retrieving the Sorcerer's Stone.

"And if she needs convincing," Harry added, "we'll just tell her it'll be good practice for our Defense Against the Dark Arts final exam."

Ron punched the air with his fist. "That's it! The day Hermione turns down an opportunity to study will be the day Draco goes to all his classes in polka-dot briefs."

The two friends went back to the Gryffindor dorm, talking excitedly about their plan. But late that night, as Harry tried to fall asleep, he kept remembering the voice from Sarutobi's office. It echoed in his mind, and the last thing he heard before he lost consciousness was its cold, hissing tone, searching for blood.


	8. Memories, Mishaps, and a Mission

**A/N: **I haven't updated this story in a very long time, and to those of you who have enjoyed it so far, I apologize. I promise I won't let this story die, although it may be a month or so between updates in the future. Without any more from me, let's get back to the story: this time, Harry tries to convince Professor Sarutobi to teach him and his friends. Hiruzen will have to confront the pain of his past, and ask himself if he can bear to train another team.

**Disclaimer: **Everything belongs to J.K. Rowling: the sun, the sky, and the castles of Scotland. Everything, that is, except that which belongs to Kishimoto.

**Chapter 7: Memories, Mishaps, and a Mission**

Getting Hermione to agree to Harry and Ron's proposal was like pulling teeth. She liked the idea of preparing for their Defense Against the Dark Arts final, but she didn't like the thought of asking Professor Sarutobi for extra help. It smacked of favoritism to her; like asking a Professor to help her cheat.

"That's not it at all, Hermione," Harry insisted, a little exasperated. "We can't train on our own; we wouldn't know what to do! Professor Sarutobi can give us tips, and correct our mistakes as we go along."

Ron, who was eager to put in his own two cents, tripped over his own words in his haste to speak over Hermione's objections. "It's not like studying, Hermione. We can't just read about how to fight in a book-" he broke off, and then added sarcastically, "oh right, I forgot. Never ask Hermione to do anything that doesn't happen in a library."

Harry rolled his eyes. In trying to be helpful, Ron was actually hurting their cause. Sure enough, Hermione drew herself up haughtily, and looked down her nose at the two of them.

"There's no call to be rude, Ronald," she said frostily. "I think it's great that you two are so interested in putting in extra effort for class, but there's more productive ways to do that than to badger Professor Sarutobi for lessons after hours."

"Come on, Hermione," Harry said, putting a hand on Ron's shoulder to keep him from bursting out angrily. "This isn't just classwork - it's more important than that. You remember what happened last year, don't you?"

Hermione looked like she wanted to argue, but in the end she just nodded.

"Well, Voldemort is still out there," Harry continued, ignoring Ron's flinch. "He's trying to come back, and there are Dark wizards who will help him. It's only logical to prepare ourselves as best we can, isn't it? Getting a good grade in Defense Against the Dark Arts would be nice, but what's really important is that we learn as much as possible about defending ourselves. Professor Sarutobi is the best person to do that."

"You make a good point, Harry," Hermione said grudgingly.

With his usual lack of tact, Ron completely missed the fact that Hermione was almost convinced, and decided to go with his trump card.

"We're doing it with or without you," he declared in a pompous tone. "But we're friends, so we want you with us. If you don't want to do it, though, you don't have to - we'll just be better at spellcasting than you."

Harry felt the urge to press his palm to his face. Ron and subtlety were like oil and water. Hermione went from almost convinced to outraged in the blink of an eye. "Oh yeah? Well, why don't you two just _leave_, then! I'll go to the library and practice spells from those _books _you hate so much!"

"Hold on, both of you," Harry said, making what he hoped were soothing gestures with his hands. "Let's slow down. Ron, don't be mean. We're a team - if Hermione doesn't want to do it, we won't either. But Hermione, please think about it, all right? I think it's a really good idea."

Hermione sighed, and tossed her frizzy hair over one shoulder. "I don't have to consider; I'll do it." She pointed her finger suddenly at Ron, who shrank back like it was a loaded gun. "But only because Harry asked nicely. _You_, on the other hand, can go jump in the lake!"

She whirled around and left the common room, stalking away proudly up the stairs to the girls' dormitory. Ron was left standing there, nonplussed. "What'd I do?" he asked, scratching his head.

Harry could only shake his head. "Next time… don't help me. Please."

The next day, Harry, Ron and Hermione stayed late after their Defense class. They took extra time putting away their scrolls and quills, and waved Neville ahead when he asked if he should wait for them.

"We just need to ask Professor Sarutobi something," Harry answered. "We'll be back in the Common Room before dinner."

Harry felt a little bit bad about keeping their motives secret from Neville, but he promised himself that it wouldn't be for long. If Professor Sarutobi had enough time to teach them, maybe he could teach Neville as well. But even if he refused to give them extra lessons, he would definitely tell them how to start practicing on their own. Then Harry could include Neville in their group easily.

Professor Sarutobi noticed them lingering, and waited politely at his desk. When the last of the Gryffindors had left the classroom, Harry, Ron and Hermione approached the front of the room. They were a little nervous, but the Professor gave them a warm smile and motioned for them to come forward.

"Good afternoon, you three. Can I help you with anything?"

Both Ron and Hermione looked at Harry, who sighed. Apparently he had been elected spokesperson.

"Well," he began, trying to pick the right words, "Ron and I were thinking, after our detention the other day. We learned a lot from you, but it's obvious that we barely scratched the surface of magical combat. You're always telling us in class that we need to be prepared to face evil, no matter what form it might take. So we were hoping that, maybe, you could teach us."

Sarutobi looked at him over folded hands, his expression inscrutable. "Isn't that what I've been doing?"

"Yes," Harry said, ducking his head shyly, "but in class we mostly talk about magic. It seemed like there was a lot more to actually fighting, like…" Harry cast about in his mind for what he meant. The closest he came was: "like… tactics! Or something…"

"I see." For a moment, Professor Sarutobi seemed to age in front of them. His eyes, though focused on them, seemed to see past them, and Harry thought he saw a glimpse of immeasurable pain. "So what you're asking me is not to teach you, but to train you. As your sensei."

"Yes!" Ron cried out eagerly. "As our sen… our what, exactly?"

"Sensei. Literallly, it means teacher. But in my village, it also implies a binding responsibility. A warrior becomes a sensei when he or she agrees to take on a small number of students and train them exclusively. Such a relationship is not one to be taken lightly. If I were to become your sensei, I would be responsible for your every action, for your very lives, until you became warriors in your own right. But that path is filled with danger, and there is no turning back. You would belong to me, heart and soul, until I thought you were ready. The only way out is death, which is a sadly common end for those who share my way of life."

By this time, the three friends' eyes were as round as dinner plates. "Blimey," Ron breathed. "I thought we were talking about a few extra lessons a week, or something."

Harry was experiencing a confusing whirl of thoughts and emotions. To be sure, he hadn't expected the Professor to treat their request so seriously. But somehow, now that he understood what training, _really_ training, with Professor Sarutobi would mean, he was even more determined to forge ahead. Here was a chance to do something extraordinary and important. Harry knew that evil was real, and that it was waiting. Wizards like Professor Sarutobi and Dumbledore could fight it head-on. Harry had only hope and determination - well, that and some of the best friends that anyone could ask for. But with Professor Sarutobi's help, Harry wouldn't have to rely on others to save him. He could help protect them, too.

"Sir," Harry began, "we didn't mean to offend you by asking - we had no idea how important this kind of training is to your village. But if you are willing to train us - to become our sensei - we would try our best to be worthy. Right, Ron? Hermione?"

Ron gulped, but nodded gamely. Hermione was a little more hesitant, but followed suit. Professor Sarutobi looked away from them, and took out a small picture from a drawer in his desk. He stared at it for a long second, and seemed to come to a decision.

"A long time ago, I made a vow," he said, his voice sad and somber. "I swore that I would never train another team."

Harry's heart sank, and he prepared to accept the refusal graciously.

"However," Sarutobi continued, and Harry's stomach seemed to leap into his throat, "time changes everything, and ignorant is he who refuses to change with time. If I thought it was the right thing to do, I would become a sensei once more."

A big smile spread across Ron's face, but disappeared faster than a mouse down Hedwig's gullet when Professor Sarutobi held up his hand, frowning sternly. "_If_, I said. I told you before, this decision is not one to make lightly. If you want me to train you, you must convince me that you are worthy of my time."

"How do we do that?" Harry asked respectfully.

Sarutobi spread his hands wide, smiling gently. "As this is a school, what could be more appropriate than a test?"

Harry almost laughed, seeing the spark that lit up in Hermione's eyes when she heard the word.

"Yes, Miss Granger," Sarutobi laughed, "I thought that might interest you. However, my idea of a test is rather different from my colleagues'. I do not intend to test your knowledge, but rather your skill, teamwork, ingenuity, and last but not least… your agility."

_Agility?_ Harry thought, a little puzzled. That was mysterious, and a little ominous…

"This is your test," Professor Sarutobi declared, gesturing grandiosely and showing a surprising flair for the dramatic. "You have forty-eight hours in which to locate the feline known as Mrs. Norris, retrieve her, and bring her to me. You may use any means necessary to accomplish this task, with the exception of murder. However, if the caretaker Argus Filch discovers your plan, it will result in automatic failure. Do you understand?"

"Let me get this straight," Ron said weakly. "You want us to bring you Filch's _cat_?"

"That is correct, Mr. Weasley. Unless you don't consider yourself equal to the task. In that case, we can all go about our business as before."

"No, no, we can do it!" Harry insisted. Hermione was silent - the thought of how many rules they would have to break had rendered her momentarily mute.

"Well then," the Professor said, regarding them serenely. "I think that will be all. Your time begins… now. Good luck!"

Harry, Ron and Hermione walked out of his office in a daze. "Did that really just happen?" Ron asked.

Harry nodded, though he could scarcely believe it himself. Still, the Professor had given them a test, and everything was riding on their abducting Mrs. Norris before their two days ran out.

"Let's go," he said, trying to instill his words with courage and a sense of urgency. "We've got a cat to catch."

oOoOo

After the three children had left, Sarutobi remained at his desk for a long time. On his desk was the picture he had taken out before, and it drew his eyes like a magnet. Three faces stared back at him - faces from the past. There was Jiraiya, the quintessential troublemaker, sticking up two fingers behind Tsunade's head. Sarutobi still remembered that moment: after the photo had been taken, Tsunade had turned around and clouted Jiraiya so hard that he had flown the full length of the training field. But during the moment captured by the picture, she was smiling like any other sweet-spirited girl. And next to the two of them, also smiling, was Orochimaru.

Sarutobi's fists clenched in his lap. It was unspeakably horrifying to see the innocent face of his former student, knowing how he would change. Looking at the picture raised questions that he didn't want to answer, that no longer even mattered, but were impossible to ignore. Sarutobi wondered whether even then, in the mind of that innocent-seeming boy, the seeds of evil and madness had already taken root.

But Sarutobi had more to think about than the ghosts and regrets of the past. He had more pressing problems, in the form of a trio of twelve-year-olds who wanted him as a sensei.

It was strange, the tricks time played on the mind. When Harry had asked Hiruzen to train him, Hiruzen could have sworn he was looking at Minato. The hair was different, of course. But they both had the same serious expression, and the same earnest desire to protect the people around them.

After the initial shock of such a request, Sarutobi had reluctantly accepted fate. He was going to train another squad. Perhaps that was even why he was here - his purpose in this universe. He would prepare the Boy Who Lived and his friends, so that when the inevitable showdown with Voldemort occurred, they would be ready. Hiruzen wondered whether Dumbledore would approve of his decision. It was curious, really, why Dumbledore hadn't begun such a course of action himself. However, the decision whether to take a genin team (_not_ genin, wizards, Hiruzen reminded himself sternly) was his alone. It had nothing to do with Dumbledore, and everything to do with whether those three children were the right ones to teach.

The Professor realized he was getting ahead of himself. After all, they had yet to pass his test.

Hiruzen chuckled a little bit at his own inside joke. On a whim, he had decided to recreate the time-honored D-rank mission of retrieving the daimyo's wife's cat. The second-year Gryffindors might not actually be genin, but Sarutobi would be damned if he dropped his standards just because these children had not been raised in a military culture. They would perform to the level that he expected from genin, or they would find another sensei. Assigning them that mission, even if he called it a test, made Hiruzen miss Konoha even more fiercely. He would have given his right arm to see Naruto come running through the hallways, tearing up the place in an effort to catch the elusive Tora.

Hiruzen did have the slightest feeling, however, that he might have asked the Gryffindors to bite off more than they could chew. Not even Tora, the nastiest feline in Konoha, had been protected by a figure as imposing as Argus Filch.

Now that he thought about it, Hiruzen realized that he should take a few precautions. He made a series of hand seals, focusing his chakra and then releasing it in a controlled burst. "_Shadow Clone jutsu!_"

A clone popped into existence, and waited for orders. "Follow young Mr. Potter and his friends, please," Hiruzen told the clone. "I hope they will prove equal to this task, but you should be on hand in case of any accidents. I'll expect a full report in forty-eight hours."

His clone disappeared with a flash of light, off in search of the aspiring cat burglars.

"The game begins, youngsters," Hiruzen said with a grin. "It's your move now."

**A/N: **I'm sorry this chapter's so short, but it's late and I thought I reached a good stopping point. The next chapter will be much longer, with a few more laughs (hopefully) and some action.


	9. To Catch a Cat

**A/N: **This chapter introduces a lot of changes, so be ready! Things will start to develop a little more rapidly after this.

**Disclaimer: **I own neither Harry Potter nor Naruto

**Chapter 8: To Catch a Cat**

The longer Harry, Ron and Hermione pursued Mrs. Norris, the more they were convinced she was a witch in disguise. They would catch a glimpse of her and follow her around a corner, only to find that she had disappeared. Once Harry could have sworn he saw a smug grin tugging at the corners of Mrs. Norris' mouth, right before she pulled another one of her disappearing acts.

"The ruddy thing is always there when you least expect her," Ron complained bitterly, "but she's never there when you need her."

He said this as they were passing a portrait of a knight in armor, who nodded wisely and added, "That's women, mate. Hit the nail on the head, you have."

"Oh, sod off," Ron snapped, "I wasn't talking to you!"

The knight sniffed at a linen handkerchief, highly offended. "Well, I never! If I weren't stuck in this painting I'd demand satisfaction!"

Hermione sighed tiredly. "Ron, we're all tired of this, but that's no reason to take it out on innocent paintings."

Ron glowered, but apologized to the knight before moving on. "He started it," he muttered sullenly as they continued their search.

By the end of the first day, they had had no luck at all. Mrs. Norris had eluded them at every turn, and Harry was starting to think that Filch was getting suspicious. There was nothing concrete, but he scowled at them a little more deeply each time he saw them, and a guilty conscience is apt to latch on to the smallest signs that other people know of one's wrongdoing.

Harry knew all about guilty consciences, because in addition to feeling bad about stealing Mrs. Norris, he had to refuse an invitation from Nearly Headless Nick to his 500th Deathday Party. It was the next day, and since they would have to spend all of it hunting Mrs. Norris they couldn't make it. Harry had never seen a ghost sulk before, but it definitely gave him a twinge of guilt. Ron made him feel slightly better when he observed that there were many other Deathday Parties he could attend; an eternity of them, in fact.

Once Harry put Nearly Headless Nick out of his thoughts, he realized that they might need to put more thought into their plan to catch Mrs. Norris. Hermione had enchanted three sacks to smell like catnip, one of which would hopefully entice Mrs. Norris inside. However, they had no idea if a wizard's cat would even like catnip. If the trick failed, they would have to catch Mrs. Norris the old-fashioned way, and the cat was _quick!_ But in spite of Ron's grumbling, all three Gryffindors were determined to see their task through.

After the first day, however, it was clear that they would need more than determination to catch Mrs. Norris. They would need a new plan for tomorrow. Harry, Ron and Hermione gathered in a corner of the common room, lowering their voices so that they wouldn't be overheard.

"I've got an idea," Ron began. Even though he'd been complaining almost non-stop, his voice now sounded excited. "Why don't we ask Fred and George for help?"

Harry shook his head. "I dunno if that's such a good idea. I mean, Professor Sarutobi gave _us_ this task. Won't it look bad if we can't do it ourselves?"

"No, that's just it," Ron said, getting more excited. "It's like our detention, remember? He put the flags in the circles to start with, but they didn't have to stay in the circles. The trick was changing the game in order to open up more options – it's just like chess. What do we have? Just the three of us, and forty-eight hours… or twenty-four, now. We can't get more time, because that's one of the rules. But the Professor never said we couldn't get more people. Remember what he said about tactics before, and always trying to gain an advantage – I think he'd want us to ask for help. And who better than Fred and George? They pull pranks on Filch all the time. If anyone can catnap Mrs. Norris, it's them."

Hermione was listening to Ron with a slightly dazed expression on her face. "That's… actually quite brilliant, Ronald."

Ron blushed bright red, right to the roots of his hair. "Thanks, Herm- wait, hold on a second! You said that like you were surprised!"

Hermione tried her best to recover from her slip-up. "What? No, I didn't! That's not how I meant it, anyway."

Ron began to sulk a bit, curling into his armchair and staring into the fire. "I can be brilliant," he muttered to nobody in particular.

"You just were," Harry said, trying to cajole Ron back into a good humor. "Look, let's go ask Fred and George for help."

"Now _that _is something I never thought to hear," Fred's carefree voice cut across their whispered conversation. "The vanquisher of the Dark Lord, looking for help from little old us? Whatever could he mean by it, George?"

"I'm sure I don't know," his twin replied. "But whatever it is, I hope he can pay for it. Favors don't come free, you know."

Ron looked up from his armchair and scowled at his brothers. They had drifted over from the entrance, and stood next to each other with their arms crossed, wicked glints in their eyes. "Don't you know it's rude to eavesdrop?" he demanded.

"Don't you know it's impossible to resist?" Fred said with a laugh.

"Besides," George added, "if you want to have a conversation without people overhearing, don't do it in a public place while skulking in a corner. Not exactly inconspicuous, if you see what I mean."

Harry winced. It was kind of obvious, now that he thought about it.

Fred spread out his arms wide, as if welcoming customers into a store. "Now then, how can we be of service?"

"It's like this," Harry said, then halted, a little embarrassed and unsure where to begin. "Suppose someone had to, uh… catch an animal. But that animal didn't want to be caught."

"It's funny," George began, tilting his head to one side, "but we may actually be able to help you. Not without more information, though. Come on, spill! What animal do you need to find?"

"Um…" Harry decided to just go for it. "Mrs. Norris," he said in a rush.

Harry didn't think he'd ever seen the twins more astonished. Their jaws dropped, and their eyebrows rose in tandem. Fred recovered first, bringing his right hand to his chest in a mocking gesture. "Be still my heart! Potter, are you trying to ask us for help with a _prank_?"

"Not just any prank, brother mine," George corrected. "The mother of all pranks. The only possible riskier prank would be stealing Snape's briefs and hanging them from the Astronomy Tower-"

"-which we will do before we graduate," Fred finished. "On our honor as Weasleys. But let's back up a second. Why, exactly, do you want to _kidnap Mrs. Norris?_"

Harry shushed him furiously, worried that someone might overhear. Ron pointed out, "I believe it's _catnap_, actually. If you want to be precise." Ron looked pleased as punch to have surprised his brothers, the Professors of Pranking themselves.

"It's kind of a secret," Harry said. He didn't want to spread around Professor Sarutobi's test – he didn't want the Professor to get into any trouble or anything. But the Weasley twins were having none of that. They crossed their arms, and did their best impressions of the patented Oliver Wood "I'm-disappointed-in-you" look.

"Look here, Harry," Fred said, leaning forward a little and lowering his voice. "We're prepared to go out of our way to help you on this, if only because you've come up with a prank that we've never thought of before."

George quickly added, "A fact that is as embarrassing for us as it is impressive for you."

"However," Fred continued, "we're not about to do this for nothing. If we help you it will mean revealing one of our secrets, one which we've guarded jealously for as long as we've known about it. I'd say a secret for a secret is a fair trade, though. You tell us why you want Mrs. Norris, and we'll help you catch her. We'll even take the fall for it if anything goes wrong, and Filch finds out. Deal?"

"I don't know…" Harry said, torn. But there was only one answer, and in the end he knew what it was. "All right. You're in."

George rubbed his hands together with glee. "Excellent. This is a job truly worthy of our talents."

So Harry told the twins about Sarutobi's offer, and its conditions. They were appropriately impressed, and loved the fact that a Professor had assigned them a prank for a test.

"So can you help us?" Hermione asked. "We enchanted sacks in order to catch Mrs. Norris, but we don't know if they'll work."

"Catching the cat will be up to you," Fred replied, touching the side of his nose in a knowing gesture. "All we can do is make sure that you know exactly where she is in the castle, at every moment of the day. And although we haven't hammered out the details of our partnership, I feel confident that George and I can take upon ourselves the responsibility of ensuring that Filch doesn't bother you while you try to nab her. Actually getting the cat in the bag will be your job. Agreed?"

"Agreed." The five Gryffindors put their hands together, and made a solemn vow that dissolved into laughter.

Harry was still curious about something. "How can you know where Mrs. Norris is all the time? We followed her for a day, and barely got more than a glimpse of her tail around a corner."

"Patience, Harry," Fred said mysteriously. "Good things come to those who wait. Also, George and I know better than to discuss our secrets in an unsecured location." He looked around the common room with exaggerated suspicion, then turned back to the second-years. "Meet us in the second-floor boy's bathroom after breakfast tomorrow, and all your questions will be answered."

Without another word, the brothers left the common room and walked up the winding dormitory staircase, winking outrageously at each other the whole way.

"Damn it," Ron said, watching them go. "Once, just once, I'd like them to give a straight answer to a question."

"Oh, that's all right," Hermione answered, turning in her armchair so that her face would be closer to the fire. "Like they said, we'll just have to be patient. Whatever they're hiding up their sleeves, we'll find out tomorrow."

"I hope they know what they're doing," Harry said worriedly. "We're running out of time."

Ron laughed quietly. "Have a little faith, Harry. Did you see their faces when you told them what we were planning? They're determined not to get shown up as the best pranksters at this school. I guarantee it, they're gonna give this everything they've got. Mrs. Norris doesn't stand a chance."

oOoOo

The next morning, Harry, Ron and Hermione met up with the Weasley twins after breakfast. The bathroom they had chosen as their clandestine location had an Out of Order sign on it, but Harry thought he recognized Fred's loopy handwriting from a note he'd passed at dinner one day. Ron knocked very quietly on the door.

"Who goes there?" George's voice came out quietly from behind the door.

"It's us, of course," Ron whispered. "Who else would try to get into a closed bathroom?"

The door swung inward, moving by itself. The Weasley twins wore hooded cloaks, with the hoods pulled low to cover their faces. It was clear that they were getting a huge kick out of the drama.

"George is lookout," Fred said, and his twin confirmed by moving to the door, keeping one ear pressed to the wood. "He'll tell us if anyone's coming. Gather round, you lot. I've got something amazing to share with you."

They did as he asked, all three equally curious about the Weasley twins' secret. "Here it is," Fred said, pulling a roll of parchment from underneath his cloak. He unrolled it with a theatrical _snap_, and held it out for them to see. Harry peered at it, wondering if he was missing something. The parchment was blank.

"What are you trying to pull?" Ron asked belligerently. "If this is some kind of joke-"

Fred _tsked_ lightly. "Patience, dear brother. What good is a map if just anyone can read it? Pay attention." He brought out his wand, and tapped the piece of parchment lightly. "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."

To Harry's amazement, black ink began to appear on the surface of the parchment, spreading rapidly and forming designs that soon turned into what looked like a miniature model of Hogwarts. Harry recognized it from the floor plan alone, but soon words surfaced as well, labeling the classrooms, dormitories, libraries, and even the dungeons. Then, after everything else had appeared, small dots became visible moving throughout the hallways and in the classrooms, and next to those dots were names.

"Is that-" Hermione gasped.

Fred nodded, smiling as wide as a Cheshire cat. "That's right. Everyone in the castle, their exact location. We're here," he said, pointing his wand at the 2nd-floor bathroom. "And Mrs. Norris is…" he paused, studying the map closely with his brow furrowed in concentration. "There," he said at last, pointing to a new location. "Oh, would you look at that! She's in the library. I suppose she wants to catch up on her reading."

Ron was spluttering like a fish, completely unable to speak. For that matter, Harry was pretty amazed as well. This map was unbelievable.

George craned his head to look back at them. "Pretty amazing, isn't it? I don't know how we ever got along without it."

Hermione asked to look at the map, and studied it with an air of reverence. "It's unbelievably complex… for an enchantment to keep track of everyone in Hogwarts, it would need some _really_ advanced magic… do you know who made it?"

"Messrs. Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs," Fred answered mysteriously. "The Marauders. We don't know who they were, but we salute them. They are our great mentors, and we aspire to their standards of pranking. This map is possibly our most valuable possession: the Marauders' Map."

"And we're going to lend it to you," George added from the door.

Fred nodded, and handed the map to Harry with a mocking half-bow. "That's right. With the Marauders on your side, you'll have all the chances you need to catch Mrs. Norris."

Harry held the map carefully, reverently. He found the little dot that represented Mrs. Norris, and followed it with his eyes.

"Here's our proposition," Fred said, taking the map back from Harry. "We'll lend you the Marauder's Map for the day. After dinner, we'll set off a case of Dungbombs near enough for Filch to get caught in the blast. It'll be chaos – students will start milling around, so we'll be able to escape. But since he's going to smell like Dungbomb, the one place Mrs. Norris _won't _be is near Filch. You three wait with the map, and then do your thing."

They were all impressed with the strategy – it was simple and elegant, and it just might work. "Won't Filch be extremely angry?" Hermione asked, a little worried.

"Nah, we'll just say it was an accident if he catches us," Fred said with a shrug. "We'll be extra nice to him after this. No more pranks for… oh, for at least a week."

"Then it's a plan," Harry said with growing confidence. "When should we take the map?"

"Now," Fred answered. He tapped the map with his wand and whispered, "Mischief managed." The ink vanished, and soon the Marauders' Map was just a crinkly yellowing piece of parchment once more. Fred rolled it up and handed it to Harry, who tucked it into his robes.

"After dinner, then?" Harry asked. Fred nodded. "Thanks, you two. We owe you one."

"We're going to hold you to that," George called out in a sing-song voice. "Don't you worry. We're going to think long and hard about what you three can do for us. I think we have a few products that need guinea pigs for testing, right Fred?"

An expression of horror spread across Ron's face. No doubt he was remembering traumatic moments from the Weasley household. Harry had a notion that he had no idea what he was letting himself in for.

oOoOo

The twins' planned worked perfectly. Or at least, it seemed to work based on what the Marauders' Map showed. After dinner, as they had promised, the Weasley twins set off with a case of Dungbombs under each arm, looking like they were going off to war. Harry, Ron and Hermione went to a secluded corner in the library and watched everything unfold on the map.

The dots that represented the Weasley twins went closer and closer to Filch, who was in the Great Hall. There was nothing on the map that showed when the Dungbombs went off, but soon almost every person on the first floor was congregating at the top of the main staircase. Fred and George had taken off like a shot, and Filch was right behind.

"They've done it," Harry said. "Where's Mrs. Norris?"

Hermione, who had been peering over the map, keeping her bushy hair out of the way over one shoulder, found Mrs. Norris first. "She's near that bathroom on the third floor. The one that's out of service, and always has a pool of water near it."

"Then let's go." The three of them stood up after wiping the map clean, and left the library side-by-side. They felt as if they were embarking on a dangerous mission – even Hermione looked excited, although she still maintained that she wished Sarutobi had given them a test that was at least in line with the rules.

When they reached the third floor, they encountered Ginny almost running in the opposite direction. She looked a little lost, and almost bumped into them before recognizing them. She saw Harry and squeaked, and then continued on as if a ghost was chasing her. Harry sighed. Ginny had been acting weird around him all year, and recently it had only gotten worse. When he asked Ron if anything was the matter, Ron only shook his head and said that girls were weird. Hermione hadn't been any more helpful – she had only looked down her nose at him, and said that if he didn't know, she certainly wasn't going to tell him.

But a second later, all thoughts of Ginny's odd behavior were driven out of Harry's head by the voice that he had heard only once before: in Sarutobi's office. The voice was just as he remembered it, exactly as he heard it sometimes in nightmares. Cold, merciless… and hungry.

"_Blood… crack the bones, feast on the marrow… give me blood…_"

The voice seemed to be moving away from Harry, and towards the third-floor bathroom. He looked at Ron and Hermione, and was torn. He didn't want to lead them into danger, but he had to know who or what that voice belonged to!

"Did you hear that?" he asked, a little desperately. Ron and Hermione both looked at him, confused. "Be careful," he told them, "I think there's something here! Something dangerous."

He took out his wand, and started running after the voice. Ron and Hermione shouted at him to slow down, but the voice was getting away. It sounded like it intended to hurt someone, and Harry couldn't just let it get away.

Harry first noticed something odd when he saw the water trickling along the floor. He followed it to its source, which turned out to be the very bathroom that Mrs. Norris had been loitering around earlier. Sure enough, Mrs. Norris was there, tiptoeing gingerly around in order to keep as much of the water from touching her as possible. She was about twenty yards from Harry, and the door to the bathroom was directly between the two of them. On the wall opposite the bathroom, words had been scrawled in fresh paint. They read, _The Chamber of Secrets has been opened. __Enemies of the Heir, Beware!_

Harry heard the voice again, louder this time. It sounded like it was right next to him. "_Feast… red, hot, delicious blood…_"

Ron and Hermione caught up to Harry, falling silent when he gave them an insistent gesture.

Harry stepped forward, about to yell at Mrs. Norris in an attempt to scare her away. His instincts told him that their test wasn't as important as getting everyone very far away, very quickly. But just as he opened his mouth, he saw something that scared the sound right out of him. The door to the bathroom swung open, pushed by a green, scaly head. It swung to the right, towards Mrs. Norris, and Harry realized with horror that the head was attached to the giant body of a snake.

Harry, Ron and Hermione froze where they stood, unable to speak if their lives had depended on it. Of course, that was what saved their lives. Mrs. Norris was looking at the water, when the shadow of the giant snake fell over her. Then she seemed to transform, right before Harry's eyes. She became rigid, not like the Gryffindors who were simply trying to remain motionless, but rigid like a statue. She didn't move, not even when the snake brought its massive head down to inspect her.

Then Hermione's voice rang out, shattering the silence like a crystal chandelier crashing to the floor. "Close your eyes!"

She sounded so firm, so sure, that Harry and Ron obeyed immediately. But Harry's heart sank, because he heard the ominous rustle as the snake made an abrupt movement. Why had Hermione just alerted the snake to their presence? They could have tried to sneak away, although the chances would have been slim that they could have moved without alerting it.

"It's a basilisk," Hermione whispered to them, her voice despairing and ragged with fear. "If you look into its eyes, you die instantly."

Oh – that explained it. "Thank you, Hermione," Harry whispered fervently.

"What do we do now?" Ron's voice cracked at the end, going up in a high squeak.

"We run," Harry said, but he knew there was little hope. A snake that big would catch up with them in seconds. What a deadly snake was doing in Hogwarts he didn't know, but that question wasn't exactly relevant with death staring them in the face.

He turned, opening his eyes when his back was safely toward the basilisk. He began to run, staying a step behind Hermione and Ron. The snake hissed loudly, but to Harry's astonishment he heard it as if it were a voice speaking to him clearly. "_New prey… come to me!_"

There was a series of crashes, probably from the snake trying to maneuver in a hallway that was barely large enough to contain it. Harry put on a fresh burst of speed, and started shooting hot sparks from his wand out behind him, aiming for the center of the sounds. He didn't stand a chance of hurting the basilisk, but maybe he would get lucky and put out one of the creature's eyes. He only wished he knew a more potent curse, like gouts of fire or lightning.

The three Gryffindors were rounding a corner when the miraculous happened. Professor Sarutobi appeared from out of nowhere, materializing in the middle of the hallway, his white robes flapping as if caught by a non-existent wind. He moved so quickly that he became a blur, streaking past them and back towards the monster.

"Don't look it in the eyes, Professor!" Hermione screamed, turning around automatically as Sarutobi turned the corner and raced towards the snake. A great sense of safety washed over Harry – Professor Sarutobi was here now. No matter how terrible a basilisk was, Professor Sarutobi would be fine. Harry knew it with the deepest conviction.

He edged his way cautiously around the corner, peeking out with one hand shading his eyes in case he needed to quickly look away from the basilisk. He needn't have worried.

Professor Sarutobi stood directly in the center of the hallway, face-to-face with the giant basilisk. The handles of two knives stuck out of the creature's eye sockets, and a thick, dark blood oozed down the reptile's face. The basilisk screamed in agony, an inhuman sound full of pain and rage. It gathered itself, ready to charge at the puny human that had caused its injury.

The Professor brought his hands together, his legs bent in a strange posture. Then, too softly for Harry to hear distinctly, he spoke a few words that shook the universe. A rumbling began all around them, as if Hogwarts castle was a slumbering giant that was beginning to awake. Harry felt a strange sense of resistance, as if someone was stretching a rubber band to its breaking point. The more the world stretched, the more the very air seemed to thicken and resist. But then, like a rubber band breaking, the resistance disappeared in a flash of energy and motion. Harry could suddenly breathe again, and the effect of the Professor's magic became obvious.

All along the corridor, for the entire length of the basilisk, the walls and ceiling shimmered and… melted. From out of the melting stone came giant spikes, just like the ones that the Professor had created during Harry and Ron's detention. The spikes hardened and sank deeply into the basilisk, cutting through its scaly hide like a knife through tissue paper. Over and over again, the giant spikes skewered the snake, until there was barely an inch of its skin still visible. The corridor had become a slaughterhouse from nightmare, and the basilisk was unmistakably dead. It hadn't even had time for one last, blood-curdling scream, so quickly had death descended from all sides.

Harry's blood was racing in his veins, and the adrenaline coursing through his system didn't let up, unconvinced that the danger was truly over. Professor Sarutobi turned to the three Gryffindors, and his expression, which was deadly serious, softened into one of satisfaction, and perhaps even good humor.

"Well now, you three," he said with a smile. "Before we begin your training, I can see that I'm going to have to lecture you about not exceeding the parameters of your mission. I asked for a cat, not a snake."

Harry laughed weakly, but it was as much a way of keeping from breaking down into hysterics as it was genuine amusement.

"What… the bloody _hell… _was _that?"_ Ron stammered, pointing a shaking finger at the basilisk's corpse.

"A basilisk," Hermione answered, her voice a mixture of fear and relief at their deliverance.

Ron looked annoyed. "I know that! What I want to know is what it's doing in the school? I could handle Fluffy - he was cute, in a slobbery kind of way. But I absolutely draw the line at snakes!"

Professor Sarutobi put a hand on Ron's shoulder, aware that he was working himself up into a state. "Those are excellent questions, Mr. Weasley. I will make sure that I bring them to the Headmaster's attention immediately. Now, I suggest that you three run along. All that noise is going to bring curious onlookers, and I doubt you wish to be bombarded with questions to which none of you have the answers. Go on to your dormitories, and get a good night's rest. That will help you recover from this shock more than anything. I'll clean things up here." He gestured casually over his shoulder at the carcass and the maze of deadly spikes obstructing the corridor.

"Thank you, Professor," Harry said gratefully, although he knew none of them would be sleeping tonight. Instead, they would be talking about what had happened. Harry had a very difficult decision to make – he had to decide whether to tell Ron and Hermione that the voice he had heard belonged to the basilisk. Somehow he didn't see that particular conversation ending well.

"Get along with you," the Professor said, making shooing motions with his hands. "I'll see you in class on Monday. Afterwards, we'll begin your training."

It took Harry a few seconds to process that, but when he did, he looked at Professor Sarutobi with surprise. "You mean-"

"Yes. I only had a second before I killed the snake, but I did see poor Mrs. Norris in an unenviable comatose state further down the hallway. Since she is in no position to run away, it would be easy for you to deliver her to me. In the interest of saving time, I'm skipping that final step, and declaring your test officially over. Best prepare yourself, youngsters: your training begins on Monday."

Harry started to share a smile with Ron and Hermione, but stopped when Professor Sarutobi let out a sinister chuckle. "I wouldn't be happy about that if I were you. Before the first day is up, you'll be begging me for the chance to face a basilisk instead of what I have cooked up for you."

Harry gulped. That didn't sound good.

oOoOo

_Dear Father,_

_Thank you for the extra cloak – it was beginning to get quite cold down in the dungeons. Quidditch practice is going very well, and on behalf of the team, Marcus Flint would like to extend his sincere gratitude for the new brooms. He would also like me to tell you that his father remains in your debt after that spot of help you gave him with the Ministry, and if there's anything he can do for you, he'd be greatly obliged._

_School is going well, although that Mudblood Granger continues to pull top marks. I'm sure that Dumbledore, being the Muggle-lover that he is, has something to do with that. However, I'm going to work even harder and regain my spot at the top of the class – that's a promise, Father, on my honor as a Malfoy._

_On a different subject, the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher is actually quite good. He seems to have an enlightened attitude towards Dark Magic, and I'm learning a lot from him. He's far too good to be working for that idiot Dumbledore – perhaps this summer you can ask him to be my private tutor? It may be hard to believe, because apparently he comes from some small village in Japan, but it is my honest opinion that Professor Sarutobi is more talented than Rookwood. But don't take my word for it; meet him, and judge for yourself. I think you'll be impressed._

_Your loyal son,_

_Draco Malfoy_

Orochimaru looked up from the letter, an unholy glint in his yellow eyes. Lucius waited patiently, his knees bent and his head bowed in abject servitude.

"My my, Lucius. It seems your son has taken quite a liking to my old teacher. I can't say that I think much of his taste – although compared to the majority of wizards that I've met, I suppose the old man would be impressive…"

Lucius was filled with fear for his son. He served at Orochimaru's whim, but he had no wish to bring his son to the homicidal maniac's attention. He would do anything to keep Draco from getting hurt, even give up his own life… but if Orochimaru decided that he wanted to bring Draco into his twisted schemes, there would be nothing that Lucius could do. Orochimaru was as far above him in power as the Dark Lord, and Lucius honestly wasn't sure if he might be stronger. It seemed blasphemy to say that about the Dark Lord, but there it was.

"What is your will, Lord Orochimaru?" Lucius kept his eyes on the ground.

"I'm not yet sure, Lucius," Orochimaru said slowly. His whole body seemed to quiver with anticipation. "But rest assured, when I decide what course to take you will be the first to know."

His dry cackle made Lucius' skin crawl, and echoed strangely off the high ceiling and walls of Malfoy Manor.


	10. Body, Magic, and Mind

**A/N: **I had a series of brainwaves over the last few days, and all of them had to do with this story. As a result, I've been doing a lot of planning, and for the next month or so I'll be focusing almost exclusively on _The Professor's Journey_. I have a _lot_ of changes in store, most of which will change canon dramatically. My biggest challenge will be taking things one chapter at a time, so I'm relying on you reviewers to make sure that I don't start rushing – that happens sometimes when I get really excited about ideas starting later on, but I'm determined not to let it happen this time. There will be an acceleration of some canon events, as well as a new focus on the Malfoy family, Draco in particular. None of this will happen quite yet, but it's something to look forward to.

In this chapter we see the aftermath of the basilisk's death, as well as the beginning of the Golden Trio's training with Sarutobi. Please read and review!

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing. I don't even own the laptop on which I'm currently writing this chapter – Ron with his borrowed wand has nothing on me.

**Chapter 9: Body, Magic, and Mind**

The Professor stood in Dumbledore's office, feeling like a squad leader undergoing a full-scale military tribunal. But this time, Hiruzen was on the wrong side of the desk. He couldn't keep a small smile from his face as he thought back to how many Konoha shinobi he'd questioned after a mission. Now Dumbledore was in the role of finding out what had happened, and Sarutobi didn't envy him one bit. It was even, Sarutobi realized, kind of fun to be the one on the other end of the questioning. However, that might be because Dumbledore was too kind to seem intimidating, and the other Professors in the Headmaster's Office didn't exactly strike fear into Hiruzen's heart.

There were four professors present in the office besides Dumbledore, and of them all, only Professor Snape looked like he suspected Sarutobi of any wrongdoing. He glared at Sarutobi with suspicion, but the Potions master's best glare fell a little flat in Sarutobi's estimation. He was used to Morino Ibiki, after all, and the head of Konoha's Torture and Interrogations Unit could strike fear into someone's heart without so much as batting an eyelid.

"Thank you for coming so promptly, Professor Sarutobi," Dumbledore began, the twinkle behind his half-moon spectacles belying the grave tone of his voice. "I have invited you here, along with the Heads of the four Houses, in order to shed some light on the troubling occurrences of Halloween. As you were the only teacher present during these events, we are grateful for the opportunity to benefit from your first-hand experience."

Hiruzen bowed his head. "I will be glad to help in whatever way I can." He looked around at the assembled faces, trying to get a feel for what his audience might be thinking. As Hokage, Hiruzen had become adept at reading the currents of tension in a room with no more than a cursory glance – in the heated political environment of Konoha's Village Council, a single look was often the only hint one could get of what was in store.

Professor McGonagall looked expectant, with no hint of any feeling other than restrained curiosity. She had been horrified to hear of the basilisk, but after learning that it was dead she had regained her normal steely self-control. Professor Sprout had a grim expression on her face, and her sleeves were rolled up as if she was preparing to go to work. She knew that whatever had summoned the basilisk was just the beginning, and was anxious to get the details from Sarutobi so that they could begin taking measures to ensure the security of the students. Professor Flitwick was still very agitated, not wanting to believe that such a terrible creature could have moved so easily through Hogwarts. His attitude towards Sarutobi was one of gratitude for killing the beast. Snape, on the other hand, watched Sarutobi like a hawk. If there was any opposition at this debriefing, it would come from Snape. Of that, Sarutobi was sure.

The Professor cleared his throat loudly, and began to deliver his report. "I became aware of the basilisk just as it petrified the caretaker's cat. Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley, and Miss Granger were running from the beast, which was beginning to pursue them. I confronted it, making sure to blind it after Miss Granger informed me about its peculiar ability. Then I used a technique of considerable destructive power to kill the basilisk. I contacted the Headmaster immediately, of course, and he came on the scene within minutes. Apart from the snake, a puddle of water, and the petrified Mrs. Norris, the only other strange thing I noticed at the scene was the message scrawled on the wall. It said, 'The Chamber of Secrets has been opened. Enemies of the Heir, Beware.' As to what that means, I must admit I am completely in the dark."

Apart from Professor Flitwick twitching violently at the mention of the basilisk, none of the Heads of Houses reacted much to his retelling. Professor Dumbledore explained why a second later, after finishing a lemon drop and smacking his lips loudly.

"As I once said to a young man in the Hospital Wing, there is nothing guaranteed to spread like a complete secret. Although Professor Sarutobi and I cleaned up the mess and put the corridor back the way it was, there was no hope of keeping this knowledge from the students. The estimable Peeves came flying as soon as he heard the sounds of an altercation, and saw the message on the wall. Moreover, all of the paintings in that corridor are still complaining about Professor Sarutobi's method of slaying the basilisk – when the walls and ceilings melted, their frames all fell to the floor. However, I believe I speak for all of Hogwarts when I say that it is only the paintings that resent the Professor's quick and decisive action." He nodded to Sarutobi with amusement.

Sarutobi could sense a range of emotions from the other teachers, from gratitude and respect for his strength to resentment. The latter, of course, emanated only from Professor Snape. Professor Dumbledore shrugged his shoulders before continuing.

"What's done is done. We can no more tell the students to forget about the Chamber of Secrets than we can tell them to stop eating sweets, or go to bed at a reasonable hour. All that's left is for us to do all that we can to ensure their continued safety. The basilisk is dead, and with it the threat of the monster of the Chamber has died with it. But there is still a very real threat to us all, and that is the person who set the basilisk loose. He or she is still at large in the castle, with even more reason to harm our students."

"What can we do?" Flitwick squeaked. "None of our defenses are aimed at catching a student, and it isn't as if we can interrogate all of them."

"Even if we did," Snape drawled with contempt, "it wouldn't work. The Heir of Slytherin is sure to be an accomplished liar, and even if we questioned every student we would have no way to be certain they told us the truth. Unless you want me to brew enough Veritaserum to flood the lake, that is, and merely getting the ingredients for that much Truth Serum would require more time than we have."

"Professor Snape is right," McGonagall said with a severe nod. "We must find a better way of searching for the culprit."

Snape broke in slyly, saying, "I, for one, am very interested in what happened before the start of Professor Sarutobi's report. Why, exactly, were those three students running away from the basilisk?"

Dumbledore smiled gently. "Surely, Severus, you wouldn't expect them to run _towards_ it?"

Snape flushed with shame at the delicate rebuke. "I meant, why those students _particularly_. According to the Bloody Baron, Potter and his two devoted followers were seen tracking Mrs. Norris as early as the day before yesterday. It is surely not a coincidence, then, that they were at the scene when Mrs. Norris was petrified. I would like an explanation for such suspicious behavior."

"I can explain that, Professor Snape," Hiruzen said, wincing slightly. This was going to sound odd no matter how he phrased it, but if there was any suspicion attached to the youngsters because of his test, it was his job to remove it. "You see, I gave those three Gryffindors the task of shadowing Mrs. Norris. It was a test of their ingenuity and tenacity. My timing was unfortunate, because in sticking close to Mrs. Norris they brought themselves into direct contact with the basilisk."

Sarutobi knew he was fudging the truth slightly, but he hoped that he could get away with not telling the other Professors that the task had actually been to kidnap Mrs. Norris. _Shadowing_ was not technically breaking any rules, and Hiruzen had no intention of explaining to the irascible Mr. Filch why he had told the second-years to target his precious feline. Hence his little fib, which he hoped would skate by undetected. Luckily, the other professors were looking so confused that he doubted they would think to question his story.

"I'm sorry," Professor Sprout said frankly, "but I'm sure I misheard. Did you just say that you told your students to follow a _cat_?"

Sarutobi nodded to her calmly, his expression serene. "Of course. It is the custom of my village to make young warriors show their skill by tracking an animal. It is a right of passage of sorts, before they begin serious training."

Sarutobi struggled to keep his face perfectly straight – Dumbledore's quirked eyebrow was close to making him burst into laughter. What a complete fib that had been! Sarutobi felt like a genin again, telling lies to his jonin sensei to keep from getting punished.

"Serious training…" McGonagall said, her lips beginning to purse in a disapproving fashion. "What do you mean?"

Sarutobi was glad to move away from the dangerous subject of Mrs. Norris. He looked directly at Dumbledore when he spoke. "I have decided to take on Mr. Potter and two of his friends as my students. In the tradition of my village, a warrior takes on three youths when they are ready for further training. They are to become my apprentices, in a sense. I am going to train them in combat, according to the principles of my culture."

The Heads of the four Houses all spoke at once in response to his declaration, but the only reaction Sarutobi cared about was Dumbledore's. The Headmaster wore a shadow of a frown, but after locking eyes with Sarutobi, he nodded slightly. That was all the agreement that Sarutobi would get – not that he needed Dumbledore's permission. He was just glad to know that he wouldn't have to go against the wishes of the man he respected most in this universe.

Snape spoke over the rest of the teachers, raising his voice almost to a shout. "Isn't that a blatant show of favoritism?"

"Absolutely," Sarutobi declared crisply. Everyone fell silent, shocked by his lack of argument. "There is no fairness in war. Let me ask you a question, Professor Snape. If Lord Voldemort were to return, who would be his first target? Besides Professor Dumbledore, of course."

Snape grimaced, but there was only one answer, and he knew it. "Potter." He made the name sound like a curse word.

Sarutobi nodded. "Precisely. As such, I believe it is necessary to prepare Potter for the fight that will one day find him." Sarutobi knew about the Prophecy, but he didn't dare mention it here for fear that one of the teachers might not know. However, he could see in Snape's eyes that he knew about the role that Harry would have to play in bringing down Lord Voldemort.

"In fact," Sarutobi went on, "I find it highly problematic that Harry Potter has not been trained before this. For the first eleven years of his life, he did not even know that magic existed! How could you expect him to even compete with his peers, let alone protect himself against the greatest Dark Wizard of the age? He has never been normal, and allowing him to live normally now would be tantamount to leaving him unprepared."

Sarutobi did nothing to soften his words, though he knew they would cause Dumbledore pain. The Headmaster wanted Harry to grow at his own pace, but Sarutobi knew that that was a mistake. Even if Orochimaru were not at large, concocting Kami only knew what twisted plans, Sarutobi would have recommended that Harry be given advanced training.

"So I'm going to take it upon myself to see that Harry Potter learns how to defend himself. As it is the custom of my village to assign three students to one sensei, I am also going to train Mr. Potter's two friends. They will be of great help to him in the future. I greatly regret that I cannot give this type of aid to all of the students of Hogwarts, but alas – I am just one man. Mr. Potter has the greatest need, and I also think he shows the greatest potential. The rest of the students will still have the opportunity to learn more about combat, of course. I understand that the first meeting of the Dueling Club is just around the corner."

Snape glowered at him, but he didn't challenge Sarutobi any further on the subject of favoritism. Dumbledore warded off any more questions by having the final word. "Professor Sarutobi has my full support in this matter. Harry Potter has shown an amazing ability to act as a magnet for trouble, and whatever he can learn in terms of self-defense can only be a source of reassurance. Moreover, it is every Professor's right to give a student as much or as little outside aid as he or she deems necessary. Now, if that matter is settled, we have much more to discuss. Professor Sprout, what are your thoughts on further security measures to protect our students?"

"Well, we have a nice healthy crop of mandrakes, so Mrs. Norris will soon be healed and we will be prepared in case there are any other basilisks roaming around the school walls."

Dumbledore winced at her acerbic tone, and Sarutobi had to agree with her. Last year it was the spirit of Voldemort possessing a teacher, and this year there was a giant snake making its lair in the walls – Dumbledore might be a genius and a great wizard, but he had obviously overlooked a few flaws in Hogwarts' security.

The conversation shifted to new topics, and the teachers talked until long after curfew, when all but the ghosts and a few troublemakers were asleep in their beds.

oOoOo

In the days following Halloween, Hogwarts was in an uproar. Harry didn't know how it happened, but suddenly everyone knew about the basilisk and the writing on the wall. Luckily, no one seemed to know that he, Ron, or Hermione had been involved, so they weren't bombarded with questions or accusations.

In the common rooms and the dorms, in class and at meals, all anyone could talk about was the Chamber of Secrets. After Professor Sarutobi's homework assignment, students were much more comfortable looking up new information in the library, and Madam Pince was flooded with curious students looking for mentions of the Chamber in old books.

Harry and his friends were just as determined to find out what the message meant as the rest of the school. They had almost been killed by the basilisk, yet they hadn't a clue where it had come from or why. Hermione was the most determined of the three, and even asked her teachers in class about the Chamber and the Heir.

It was McGonagall who finally caved, and told the Gryffindors in her class that the Heir referred to the Heir of Slytherin. She told them about the monster of the Chamber, which everyone knew must be the basilisk that Professor Sarutobi had killed. Soon the whole school knew, and in the absence of any particular suspect, Slytherins in general were treated with a healthy dose of fear. Most enjoyed it, even if the idea of the Heir of Slytherin secretly frightened them.

Students from the other three Houses approached daily life with a large dose of paranoia. They moved in packs, and avoided dark corners. Fred and George made a considerable profit selling wards and "snake repellent," which Hermione maintained was absolutely useless and probably poisonous. Ginny seemed to have caught the general paranoia more than most – Ron's sister wandered through the halls like a ghost, and she jumped if people so much as called her name. Harry could only hope that the Heir would be caught soon, because maybe then Ginny wouldn't seem so frightened and lost.

For a while, Harry had been worried about his ability to hear the basilisk speak. He wondered if perhaps it hadn't been some kind of connection to the beast – in his darkest moments, he even thought that perhaps _he_ was the Heir of Slytherin, and just didn't know it. But then he remembered the boa constrictor from the zoo, and how he had been able to hear it talking to him. Harry guessed that he could talk to all snakes, but until he proved that to himself he wasn't going to share that information with anyone. He didn't want them to look at him with fear in his eyes.

While Harry didn't enjoy the fear of others, there were a few who clearly enjoyed the atmosphere created by news of the Heir's return. Malfoy in particular seemed overjoyed. He strutted around as if he were the Heir himself, and became even more vocal in his hatred of non-magical families.

"Mudbloods better watch out now," Harry heard him say one day at the end of Potions class, "they won't be able to show their faces now that the Heir is laying down the law."

Hermione had to forcibly restrain Ron from drawing his wand, which would have brought Snape's full fury down on their heads. When they were back in the Gryffindor Common Room that night, all they could talk about was the Heir.

"What if it's really him?" Ron demanded, still fuming on behalf of Hermione. The tips of her ears were a little red, and Harry thought that she was secretly glad that Ron was so quick to defend her. Not that she would ever say that, of course.

"Draco, I mean," Ron continued, looking back and forth between the two of them. "The Heir of Slytherin is sure to share his pure-blood mania. And who do we know who thinks all Muggleborn are scum? Gee, let's think," he concluded sarcastically.

"I don't know," Hermione said hesitantly. "The Heir of Slytherin set the basilisk loose, maybe meaning to kill people. Draco's a nasty little git, but I don't think he's a murderer."

"My dad says Malfoy's dad didn't need a reason to go over to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named; if his dad is that evil, what's to say Malfoy can't be, too?"

Harry was starting to be slightly convinced, although he shared Hermione's reservation about Malfoy's killer instinct. He had always thought Draco was a bit of a coward, like the time he had challenged Harry to a duel and then informed Filch on him. Still, there weren't many other candidates that Harry could think of who might actually enjoy being the Heir of Slytherin. He said so to the other two, who acknowledged his point with a nod.

Hermione fidgeted in her plushy arm chair. "Still, we don't have any proof. We can't just accuse him of being the Heir if we don't have solid evidence."

"How would we get that?" Ron was beginning to get a little fed up with Hermione's objections, and asked her sarcastically, "D'you reckon we should just waltz into the Dungeons and ask Draco if he and his buddies are hiding another monster?"

Hermione was oblivious to his sarcasm, a realization striking her so suddenly that Harry could almost see the lightbulb going off next to her head. "That's… not a terrible idea, Ronald."

Ron was dumbstruck, staring at Hermione as if she'd lost her mind. "Hermione, have you gone barmy? Of course it's a bad idea – I was _joking_."

Hermione sniffed absently. "Then I don't think much of your sense of humor. Now, what was the name of that potion again… oh yes! Polyjuice Potion!"

She focused on her friends, a wide grin animating her face. "I know how we can get into the dungeons without the Slytherins realizing. The Polyjuice Potion can make you look exactly like someone else. We could disguise ourselves as Slytherins-"

Harry saw where she was going, and finished her thought for her. "And Malfoy would spill his guts, thinking we were his friends. Hermione, it's brilliant! _You're_ brilliant!"

Hermione gave an embarrassed wave. "Stop it, you'll make me blush."

Ron was looking a little disgruntled, probably because Hermione had taken his joke and turned it into a workable plan. "How do we make this Polyjuice thing?" he asked with poor grace. "Do you know the recipe?"

"No," Hermione said, her face falling a little. "It's terribly advanced, and some of the ingredients are dangerous. The book with the recipe is sure to be in the Restricted Section, and we'll need a teacher's permission to even look at it."

"Still, it's a good idea," Harry pointed out. "We can get permission somehow, and once we do we can start brewing the potion. It'll be worth it if we learn something from Malfoy. Even if he's not the Heir, maybe he'll know who is. He's a Slytherin, after all, and whatever there is to know about the Heir, he'll know it."

"It's a plan, then," Ron said, growing excited at the chance to sneak into the Slytherin dorm. He got an idea, and gestured excitedly at Harry and Hermione. "Hey, why don't we ask Fred and George for the Marauders' Map once we learn how to make the Polyjuice Potion? It might be useful if we need to figure out when Malfoy is in the Slytherin Common Room. We could pick a time when not many other Slytherins are around, so there wouldn't be any risk that the real people would show up and ruin our disguises."

Hermione looked at Ron with frank amazement. "That is absolutely _brilliant_! Why didn't I think of that?"

Ron blushed so deep a red that Harry thought he might explode.

oOoOo

It was during this period of paranoia and speculation about the Heir of Slytherin that Harry, Ron, and Hermione had their first official lesson with Sarutobi. He had told them to meet him after class on Monday, and all three had been looking forward to it for days. Hermione was a little bit apprehensive, while Ron was simply ecstatic. He told Hermione about the giant dojo in the Professor's trunk so many times that even Harry was starting to get a little sick of the story.

But when the Professor took the three of them to his office after class, Harry guessed that Hermione would get to see the dojo first-hand. And that was precisely what happened. Professor Sarutobi wasted no time, instead unlocking the trunk with one of his odd-looking hand seals.

"If you would," he said politely, gesturing for them to descend the stairs. Even after being there once before, Harry was impressed by the giant room. Hermione was in transports of awe, muttering about "Space-Displacement Charms." Harry noticed that Hermione gulped and paused for a second when she saw the rows of weapons lined up on the far wall, and the target dummies that were riddled with sharp knives.

Professor Sarutobi led them to the center of the dojo, where, curiously enough, a blackboard was waiting for them. It must have been enchanted, because as they approached, a piece of chalk hovered in the air and wrote, "Welcome, Professor Sarutobi."

The Professor saw them looking at the blackboard and chuckled. "The Headmaster was kind enough to lend me this teaching aid, once I told him what I needed. I find that when explaining concepts to new students, pictures are invaluable. Now, pay attention. This is our first day of training, and as such I need you to understand my approach."

He waved his hand, and three desks appeared out of nowhere. Harry, Ron, and Hermione sat down, waiting expectantly. "First," Sarutobi began, "know that what we are doing has never been tried before. To my knowledge, no wizard has ever been taught according to the principles of my village. There is good reason for that – can anyone tell me why?"

Hermione's hand shot up, and Ron almost groaned. It looked like they were going to get shown up in their private training, too. "Yes, Miss Granger?"

"Because we use wands?" she asked.

Sarutobi nodded. "Yes, although that is only one effect of a deeper cause. The truth is that my magic is of an entirely different sort than yours. My power comes from an energy called chakra, and from my work with Professor Dumbledore I have ascertained that your magic does not rely on chakra at all. Thus, the spells that you can use and the spells that I can use are completely different. That means that I will have to adjust your training to reflect the differences in our abilities."

Hermione was concentrating hard, and Harry bet that she wished she had a notebook to write this down. For his part, he was a little worried. If they couldn't learn to do what Professor Sarutobi could, how could he teach them?

Professor Sarutobi glanced at Harry, seeming to catch his hesitation. "With help from Professor Dumbledore, I have devised what I think is the most efficient method of training. In order for you to understand it fully, I will tell you a little of how training happens in my home village."

He gestured at the blackboard, and the enchanted piece of chalk began to draw stick figures. Once drawn, they moved about on the blackboard of their own volition, almost like the paintings of Hogwarts, but with less detail.

"Warriors of my village are called shinobi, and their training is comprised of three disciplines: taijutsu, ninjutsu, and genjutsu. Taijutsu is the art of physical combat. Ninjutsu is the manipulation of chakra to affect external reality. Genjutsu is the manipulation of chakra to target an enemy's mind. Taken all together, these three disciplines are what make a shinobi."

The three Gryffindors split their attention between the Professor and the blackboard, which was changing to illustrate his terms. Stick figures were demonstrating each of the three disciplines: for taijutsu, there were two figures punching and kicking each other; for ninjutsu, the figures made hand seals that produced bursts of fire, lightning, water, wind, and earth; and for genjutsu, one figure made hand seals that resulted in its target falling to its knees, clutching its head in a comical fashion.

"For a wizard," Sarutobi went on, "ninjutsu and genjutsu are impossible. But I will follow this model by dividing your training into three main areas. I will call them Body, Magic, and Mind."

At his words the blackboard erased the miniature figures, and created three categories, one for each aspect of their training.

"Eventually, your training in Body will include knowledge of physical combat, both armed and unarmed. It may seem strange to you that I am asking wizards to learn how to fight like Muggles, but it is of the utmost importance that you do so. A wand is only as effective as the hand that wields it. You must improve your speed, endurance and reflexes, all of which are just as important for a wizard as knowledge of spells. If you can't dodge a curse or hit a target, then you'll be easy prey."

This time, the figures that appeared on the blackboard were caricatures of Harry, Ron, and Hermione. They stayed in the Body section of the blackboard, and began running around and throwing mock punches at each other.

"Next, we proceed to Magic," Sarutobi said, and the miniature Gryffindors on the blackboard obediently hopped over the dividing line into the Magic section. Sarutobi nodded with amusement. "This section is for the most part self-explanatory. We will expand your knowledge of spells, so that you will be equipped with an answer for every situation. Too many witches and wizards are limited in the spells they know – it shows in the fact that most jinxes, hexes, and curses travel in a straight line. But what if an enemy is behind cover, or has activated a barrier? Before I'm done with you, you will possess a vast array of offensive and defensive spells, potions, charms, enchantments and more. Just because my own abilities prevent me from using such spells myself, doesn't mean that I can't teach them to you."

The little figures on the board were casting spells recklessly with frequent bursts of chalk, turning the middle section of the blackboard into a miniature battlefield. Sarutobi coughed gently, bringing their attention back to him.

"Last, but by no means least, is Mind. In my village, the techniques affecting the human mind are so subtle and powerful that they are taught separately. Here as well, magic that affects the mind is a delicate art taught only to a few. But your training in Mind will not advance to such magic until you are ready for it. What I will teach you first is mental discipline. You will learn to order your mind, to react quickly in the face of a threat, and to determine immediately the most appropriate course of action in any given situation. Tactics, teamwork, strength of will, how to use your allies' strengths to the best advantage – these skills are much, _much_ more important in achieving victory than mere spellwork."

Harry tried to commit what he was hearing to his memory, determined not to disappoint Professor Sarutobi. _Body, Magic, and Mind_._ That's not so bad. We can do this._

"Your first task is to become competent in all three of these disciplines," Sarutobi said, giving them a stern frown. "But only when you combine them will you earn the right to be called a warrior."

He snapped his fingers, and the figures on the blackboard disappeared, leaving the surface glossy and chalk-free. A second later, the blackboard itself folded up and disappeared. Sarutobi gestured at the three Gryffindors to stand up, and when they did the desks at which they had been sitting vanished with a pop. All three jumped with surprise.

"I'll tell you now," Sarutobi said with a grin. "That was the first and only time you will ever be sitting at a desk when you are training with me. Battles are not fought in a classroom, and you must not train in one. Next time we meet, I'll set up a permanent schedule for you. All of your training will happen here, in Training Ground One."

Harry raised his hand nervously. Sarutobi nodded to him kindly. "Are we allowed to share what you teach us with others? I mean, if they want to learn too?" He was thinking of Neville, who was so determined to do well in Defense Against the Dark Arts. However hard they had to work, Neville would work just as hard, if not harder. He was a fighter, and Harry wanted to help him if he could.

Professor Sarutobi deliberated for a second. "I see no reason why not. I will only train the three of you, but there is no reason that you all couldn't work with your classmates outside of the time you are training with me. My only rule is that you must not teach them any new spells – working on spells without an experienced teacher around is dangerous at best, and I would be responsible if there were any accidents. However, the lessons that you will learn in Body and Mind would be quite valuable to others, should they have the determination to persevere."

"Thank you, Professor."

Sarutobi dismissed his gratitude with a wave. "That's enough chatter, I think. Time for your first practical training. The three of you will run around this dojo, along the white boundary line."

"How long should we run for?" Ron asked.

Sarutobi looked at him as if confused. "Until you can't run anymore, of course. I wouldn't advise stopping first, however," he added as an afterthought.

"Why not?" Hermione asked, a nervous tone edging into her voice.

Sarutobi made a series of hand seals, generating a puff of smoke and a loud _crack_. When the smoke cleared, a large bulldog with a spiked collar was standing before them. An angry light gleamed in its piggy eyes, and a thin string of drool hung from its sharp teeth. The bulldog looked back and forth between the three Gryffindors, like a starving man deciding where to start at the buffet.

"Because he wants you to stop," Sarutobi said with a malicious grin.


	11. A New Threat

**A/N: **Hey everyone! I'll address two parts of the last chapter that might have caused a little confusion, and then it's on to the next one!

First, Sarutobi did not summon one of Kakashi's ninken. He only possesses the contract for the apes, as a few of you pointed out. I intentionally didn't specify how Sarutobi created the bulldog, because I was writing from Harry's point of view and he couldn't have known. However, when I was writing I pictured the bulldog as a genjutsu affecting the three of them. There are other ways Sarutobi could have created the same effect, among them a Transformed clone, but a genjutsu is the most elegant solution. Sarutobi's choice of a bulldog is, of course, a nod to Kakashi's ninken, but any summoned animals would have talked.

Second, the animated blackboard was kind of silly, but I was trying to play off of similar teaching moments in the Naruto anime, when the animation becomes very simple in order to demonstrate how chakra works, etc. I always thought it was fun, so I wanted to have Sarutobi do something like it.

Finally, there is a bit of unavoidable canon rehash this chapter. The Quidditch game is entirely a rewrite of canon, which I generally try to avoid when I can. However, as the rest of the chapter will show, things are really beginning to change, and from here on out most canon events will have a significant twist at the very least.

**Disclaimer: **I own neither Harry Potter nor Naruto

**Chapter 10: A New Threat**

Narcissa Malfoy, formerly Narcissa Black, loved to entertain guests in Malfoy Manor. She frequently threw lavish dinner parties for such distinguished and important people as the Minister of Magic, Department Heads, and the scions of other powerful Pureblood families. Such get-togethers were a way of showing off her husband's wealth and status, but they were also enjoyable in their own right. As a stay-at-home mother whose son was off at Hogwarts, Narcissa didn't exactly have much excitement in her life. Opportunities to socialize with people in her own set were few and far between, and Narcissa made a point to create them when she could.

However, tonight was not at all like the dinner parties Narcissa usually hosted. There were a few similarities – she was serving dinner, after all. And indeed, many of the people sitting at the table were influential members of the Ministry. But the atmosphere in the Malfoy's grand dining room was closer to that of a clandestine meeting than a casual gathering of society's elite. Almost everyone wore robes with hoods pulled low, their faces cast into shadow.

The reason for this strange behavior was that each and every one of Narcissa's guests tonight had once been in service to the Dark Lord. They were a diverse group, with people in many different situations and careers, but they were tied together by the same mark branded into their flesh. When Lucius Malfoy, their old lieutenant, called them to his manor without explanation, they had no choice but to come. And Narcissa, who would have happily seen the Dark Lord disappear into memory, was forced to play hostess to a meeting of former Death Eaters.

Some of them she had never met before, and some were people with whom she was entirely too familiar. One of them, Rookwood, first gathered enough courage to speak. "Narcissa," he began, his voice full of false confidence and cheer. "It is wonderful to see you again, of course. But I must ask why we were all gathered here today. Lucius is not one to indulge himself in nostalgia."

"Neither am I," Narcissa said crisply. "I do not know why my husband invited you. I can only imagine he has some news for you."

Actually, what Narcissa imagined was far worse, but telling Rookwood would do him no good. Narcissa knew that her husband wasn't responsible for this meeting at all – it was her husband's new master, Orochimaru. Narcissa never failed to experience an equal mixture of anger and terror when she thought of the man. She had only seen him once, but the transformation he had wrought in her husband was horrifying. Lucius Malfoy, one of the richest wizards in Europe and a man with the ear of the Minister himself, was now reduced to a state of near-servitude.

Narcissa could tell that her husband lived in fear of the pale man with the yellow eyes, and that he was doing everything he could to protect his family from coming to Orochimaru's attention. Lucius had even gone so far as to tell Narcissa not to write to Draco.

"I do not know whether Draco is safe at Hogwarts," Lucius had told her once, the fear in his eyes a source of shock and alarm for Narcissa. "Dumbledore was strong enough to keep the Dark Lord at bay, but I don't know if even he is a match for Lord Orochimaru."

That was the moment in which Narcissa realized the depth of the tragedy which had befallen her family.

"I'm doing all I can to keep Draco safe," Lucius had promised her, his steely eyes not leaving hers for an instant. "I told Lord Orochimaru that I will serve him faithfully, but only if he leaves the two of you out of his schemes. He would have killed me on the spot, but he said my love for Draco _amused_ him. He agreed to spare our son, but I don't trust him. His power is so immense, that if he were to try and harm any of us there is no way that I could stop him. The only thing we can do is keep Draco out of our lives as much as possible. He'll stay at Hogwarts for the school vacations, and we must stop writing him unless it's absolutely necessary. Do you understand? It's to protect him."

Narcissa had done everything her husband asked, though it pained her not to be able to write her son. She could only hope that her husband's service would be of short duration, and that Lord Orochimaru would be disposed to reward him by giving him his freedom. Even that was a desperate hope, and Narcissa knew it.

She did not know what Orochimaru was planning with this gathering of former Death Eaters – she did now want to know. She had done her job, and her husband would take over from there. When she saw Lucius enter from the living room, she stood up gracefully.

"Friends, I have taken up enough of your time," she announced to her hooded audience. "My husband has business with you, and I would only be in the way. Thank you for visiting our home, and I wish you a safe trip back."

She left the room, relinquishing the seat at the head of the table to Lucius. He nodded at her as she passed, a tightly controlled gesture that communicated his determination. Narcissa realized her hands were shaking, and hastened to conceal them in the folds of her dress robes.

On her way out of the dining room, Narcissa heard her husband begin to speak. "I have invited you to my home for a very important purpose," Lucius announced. "It is to introduce you to an extraordinary man…" his voice became quieter and quieter, until it disappeared altogether.

As she retreated to the kitchen, Narcissa could not repress a shiver. Orochimaru must be somewhere in the house, waiting for the right moment to address the men and women assembled in the dining room. She did not know what Orochimaru wanted with former Death Eaters, but whatever his reasons, they weren't likely to benefit anyone but him.

Dobby, the Malfoy's House-Elf, approached Narcissa quietly with a cup of tea. She took it without looking at the elf, and raised it with trembling fingers to her lips.

Just as she was about to take a sip, the screaming began. A discordant symphony of pain came from the dining room, unearthly cries of agony ripped from resisting throats. The china cup fell from Narcissa's hands, shattering into a million pieces on the tiled kitchen floor. The scalding tea splashed her, staining her robes and burning her ankles, but she didn't even notice.

oOoOo

Harry had never worked so hard in his life, and he was sure Ron and Hermione could say the same. Professor Sarutobi's training had practically taken over their lives. Every morning they went for a run, where they were chased by various savage beasts. Harry began to think that Professor Sarutobi was in cahoots with Hagrid, because how else would the Defense professor have heard about a three-headed dog? That had been a particularly nasty morning, when all three heads had been snapping at the Gryffindors.

After the run they always meditated, trying to clear their minds as Professor Sarutobi taught them to do. Meditation allowed them to rest their bodies, but it was hard work all the same. Harry kept getting headaches, and he didn't think his mind was getting any more organized. On the contrary, in fact – he felt like his thoughts were getting more scattered by the day.

That was just the beginning of the day. Professor Sarutobi created a schedule for them that worked around their classes and Harry's practice schedule. In the afternoons they worked on spellcasting and martial arts. By the end of those sessions, the trio's arms were generally too tired to even raise their wands. They also had evening sessions three times a week, when Professor Sarutobi generated hypothetical combat situations and quizzed them on how they would approach them.

With training, homework, and Quidditch, Harry had almost no free time to speak of. His body was sore the majority of every day, and his mind ached from overuse. The other Gryffindors, who had started out by being a little jealous, quickly realized that training with Professor Sarutobi was far too close to unending torture for their comfort.

Once they had settled into a pattern, however, Harry kept his promise to himself by inviting Neville to join the morning sessions. When he heard that exercise and meditation would help his magic, Neville joined them with a single-minded determination. He tripped over his own feet more often than not, but after the first week he began to show marked improvement. He was also invaluable when Harry, Ron, and Hermione were practicing the martial arts forms that Sarutobi was teaching them. They practiced on their own in order to make the motions feel natural, and with a fourth person they were able to split up in pairs for more effective sparring.

To Harry's surprise, they soon began to make progress. They could run farther without getting tired, and their spellcasting showed marked improvement. The meditation was as frustrating as ever, but after only a week Harry knew that their bodies were starting to adjust to the new routine. Harry couldn't wait to see what would happen once Professor Sarutobi started teaching them new spells. For the time being, he was just refining their technique with spells they already knew, and making them practice new applications such as hitting moving targets.

Their days melted into one another, adopting a familiar pattern of training, eating, studying, and then training some more. They all developed ravenous appetites, eating nonstop to restore the energy that they expended in training. At first, their energy level over-all dropped, so much so that Oliver Wood commented with concern that Harry did not seem himself in Quidditch practice. But once their bodies adapted, they found themselves feeling better, sharper. Wood told Harry that whatever he was doing, he should keep it up, because his flying was improving in leaps and bounds. And Ron told Hermione that he didn't even mind homework as much as he used to, because "it didn't make his head hurt nearly as much as meditation."

They were all growing, and if their progress was slow it was there all the same.

It was at that time, two weeks into their training, that Hermione gathered up the courage to ask Professor Sarutobi for a favor.

"A signed permission slip?" he asked when she approached him one day after class. "Why would you need such a thing?"

Hermione didn't quite meet Professor Sarutobi's eyes. "We're researching a potion, but the only book with information about it is in the Restricted Section. We need a Professor's permission to look at it."

Harry and Ron watched with their hearts in their mouths, but Professor Sarutobi only signed a slip of paper and gave it to Hermione. As they were walking away, relieved that they had gotten away with it, Sarutobi called out to them. Ron jumped almost a foot in the air.

"Be careful," he said to them, his voice sounding amused. "I trust the three of you, but there are many who would see your interest in restricted knowledge and get the wrong idea. Please don't betray my trust in you."

They nearly fell over themselves assuring him that they had only the best intentions, and it took Harry and Ron a considerable amount of effort later to keep Hermione from coming clean about the whole plan.

In the end, however, they prevailed, and later that night they left together for the library. Madam Pince examined their permission slip like a bank manager with suspected counterfeit money, but could find nothing wrong with Professor Sarutobi's signature. She waved them through, only warning them that if they strayed in the Restricted Section, or took a peek at any book other than the one on Hermione's note, they would not enjoy the consequences.

Hermione found the book and opened to the Table of Contents, locating the Polyjuice Potion with admirable efficiency. When she began reading the ingredients and steps necessary to brew the potion, Harry and Ron began to lose motivation for the project. It took almost two months to brew, and some of the ingredients were extremely rare. Ron was all for trying to find another way, and even Harry was beginning to think that perhaps their Invisibility Cloak would be a suitable alternative. But Hermione was unmoved.

"Of _course_ it's difficult!" she huffed, exasperated. "Everything worthwhile is. But this is the best way to investigate Malfoy without getting caught. If we start brewing soon it'll be ready by Christmas, which really isn't that far away. Come on, you two! Are you really going to give up so easily?"

That was enough to get Ron to swear that he would make the Polyjuice Potion or die trying, and Harry gave his support as well. They were already waking up at the crack of dawn every day to train, so surely they could find a few minutes every now and then to brew a potion.

Hermione recorded the Polyjuice recipe with the utmost precision in a notebook she kept in her robes, and once she was done they said goodbye to the Restricted Section. Harry could feel Madam Pince's beady eyes following them all the way out into the hallway.

oOoOo

With the approach of the Gryffindor-Slytherin Quidditch match, the entire castle caught Quidditch fever. Even gossip about the Heir of Slytherin took a back seat to the students' favorite sport, and the competing shows of House pride lightened the atmosphere in the hallways and common rooms considerably.

Wood was making the team practice like mad, the threat of their opponents' new brooms hanging over their heads. Harry began to consider Quidditch practice in the same light as training with Professor Sarutobi. They practiced through the cold, the rain, and the mud, until at last the morning of the match arrived.

Harry had butterflies in his stomach, but they were more from excitement than nerves. Slytherin had better brooms, but Harry had faith in his team. They flew better together, and their teamwork would be enough to offset a slight speed disadvantage. Harry knew, however, that ultimately the only thing that mattered would be catching the Snitch before Malfoy.

Wood took him aside right before the match, his eyes boring holes into Harry's soul. "It's all on you, Potter," he said solemnly. "We'll make sure you've got a decent lead, but you've _got_ to catch that Snitch. End this game quickly, or die trying."

Harry gave Wood his best salute. While the team made their last-minute preparations, Harry scanned the crowd for his friends. The Gryffindors were a block of red and gold, and their cheering voiced combined with the noise from the rest of the crowd to become an indistinguishable wall of sound. Harry could make out Ron, Hermione, Neville, and even Ginny. The first-year was sticking close to her brother, looking more excited and happier than he could remember seeing her this year.

Fred and George clapped Harry on the shoulder, for once not even bothering to tease him. They wanted this win just as badly as the rest of Gryffindor.

Madam Hooch stepped out onto the pitch, her windswept hair waving erratically. Both teams mounted their brooms and took their positions, eyes locked on her silver whistle. Malfoy caught Harry's eye and made a slashing gesture across his throat with one finger. Harry turned away contemptuously.

"I want a clean game," Madam Hooch declared, looking particularly at Marcus Flint. Harry saw that Flint was also giving him the evil eye, and realized that the seventh-year must still be angry about getting hit by his _Petrificus Totalis_ during Sarutobi's detention. The memory of that moment brought a smile to Harry's face, which only enraged Flint more.

Madam Hooch blew a short blast on her whistle. "Begin!"

Harry was off like a shot, trying simultaneously to gain altitude and keep an eye on the action with the quaffle. He was dividing his attention between the Slytherin chasers and his search for the Snitch, so he was caught almost completely by surprise when a bludger came out of nowhere and almost took his head off. Fred Weasley saved his neck when he came swooping in, swinging his bat and sending the bludger careening off towards Marcus Flint.

"All right, Harry?" Fred yelled. But Harry didn't answer, because he saw the bludger curl around in a tight arc and come directly back towards him. He took off at top speed to another corner of the pitch, but the bludger followed him like a scent hound.

A roar went up from the stands as students saw Harry being shadowed by the bludger. Harry heard Hagrid's voice rise in astonishment, but he was too busy dodging for his life to hear what he said. Fred and George broke off from the rest of the game, devoting their attention to keeping Harry safe from the rogue bludger. Meanwhile, the Slytherin beaters gained sole control over the remaining bludger, using it to keep the Gryffindor team from disrupting their chasers' formation. With that advantage, plus the extra speed from their Nimbus 2001's, the Slytherin team was scoring almost at will.

When Wood signaled for a time-out, Harry had already narrowly missed being knocked off his broom several times, and Gryffindor was far behind on the scoreboard.

"What's going on?" Wood demanded.

"That damn bludger won't leave Harry alone!" Fred snarled. "Someone must have tampered with it."

"We can't call the match without forfeiting," Wood said, his eyes growing worried.

"Forfeit? No way!" Harry declared. "Fred, George – stop covering for me. I can handle it. The rest of the team needs your help to keep the Slytherin chasers from scoring so much. I can avoid the bludger and look for the snitch on my own."

"Are you sure, Harry?" George asked, concern in his voice. "That bludger isn't messing around."

Harry nodded his head emphatically. "Neither am I. I can do this."

"You heard the man," Wood said. "He'll handle it. The rest of you, let's pick it up. We're flying scared out there. Remember that we're the better team. Katie, Alicia, Angelina, don't try to race the Slytherins. Pick your moments, and when we have the quaffle make sure we only go for the sure passes. Fred and George, make sure they can't accelerate for fear of flying right into a bludger. Understood?"

They formed a circle and put their hands in. After a shouted "Gryffindor!" they re-mounted their brooms, and the game started once again. This time, Harry was on his own, and the bludger seemed even more determined to get him. The crowd was beside itself, as one half cried out in fear for Harry, while the other half was cheering on the bludger.

Harry's determination to deal with the bludger himself helped his team immensely in the first few minutes. Fred and George were much more skilled than the Slytherin beaters, and they began to do an excellent job of negating the Slytherin chasers' speed advantage. The Gryffindor chasers' teamwork began to pay off as well, and they managed to put a few points on the scoreboard.

But Harry knew that it would all be useless if he couldn't shake the bludger long enough to catch the snitch. As things were, he was too busy flying evasive maneuvers to even look for the blasted thing, let alone catch it.

While Harry was executing a barrel roll to avoid a particularly nasty fly-by, Draco came over to taunt him.

"Having a little trouble there, Potter?" he gloated.

Harry swallowed his response, because he saw the tell-tale glint of gold hovering near Draco's face. It was the first time he'd seen the snitch all game, and he wasn't going to risk tipping Draco off. He tried to make his way closer without looking like he meant to, but in so doing he forgot about the bludger for a moment too long. It had circled around behind him, and the first inkling Harry got of its presence was a warning shout from the crowd. The next thing he knew blinding pain shot through his arm, and then the bludger flew off past him, preparing to circle around and finish the job. The pain jarred him into action, and Harry spurred his broom towards Malfoy at top speed. He made a desperate grab with his uninjured hand and snagged the snitch with his fingertips.

The bludger was still on his heels, so Harry went into a steep dive. His landing was not smooth, due in part to the crippling pain in his arm, and also to the reckless speed he was drawing on to evade the bludger. He tumbled off his broom, only to see that the bludger was still homing in on him, growing larger with each passing second.

There was a popping sound, and then Professor Sarutobi stood before Harry, his white robes billowing. He made a hand gesture and a wall of rock jutted out from the ground. The bludger couldn't dodge in time and collided with the barrier, pulverized into millions of tiny shards. The crowd had gone silent, watching with bated breath as the bludger approached Harry. Now the students went wild, celebrating the fantastic catch but also the quick action by the Defense Professor. Harry let out a sigh that immediately turned into a wince of pain. Now that his adrenaline rush was dying down, it was becoming very clear that his arm was seriously injured.

Professor Sarutobi turned to Harry, a frown twitching at his lips, but a kind light in his eyes. "I am still adjusting to many parts of your culture, but I have to admit that I don't understand the appeal of Quidditch."

Harry could only smile weakly. "It's usually much better than that, sir."

He had no time to say anything else because he was mobbed by the Gryffindor team. Fred and George almost broke his other arm before they realized that hoisting him onto their shoulders probably wasn't a good idea.

"You did it, Harry!" Wood yelled, tears streaming down his face.

"We did it!" Harry yelled back. His classmates were storming the pitch, while the Slytherin team was retreating to the changing rooms in a foul humor. Harry would have given all the galleons in his vault at Gringotts to hear the dressing-down that Malfoy was sure to get from Flint.

Professor Sarutobi remained by his side during the post-victory mayhem, and his imposing presence kept the celebrating Gryffindors from being too careless with their injured Seeker.

Sarutobi nodded gravely to Harry. "When you're ready, I think perhaps I should take you to the Hospital Wing. Your injury is not life-threatening, but without proper care it may worsen."

Harry was a little put off by the Professor's light tone. His arm might not be shattered, but at least one bone was definitely broken, and besides that it bloody _hurt_! Professor Sarutobi was being awfully cavalier about it, if you asked him. But then, Harry guessed that to the Professor this would simply be good training. Dealing with pain, and all that. So he gritted his teeth through the pain, and shrugged off Ron's hand when he offered to help support him to the Hospital Wing.

Harry left for the Hospital Wing in a crowd of ecstatic Gryffindors, and as he made his way up to the castle he couldn't keep the smile off his face. _You can keep your fancy broom, Malfoy_, Harry thought with satisfaction. _It only makes victory taste that much sweeter_.

oOoOo

Madam Pomfrey seemed to share Professor Sarutobi's dismissive attitude towards Harry's injury. She sniffed when she saw his broken arm, and said that she treated worse wounds every day. She waved her wand casually over his arm, and with an audible _pop_ the bones realigned correctly. There was a flash of pain, and then the agony in Harry's arm subsided to a dull ache.

"Still, best if you stay in the Hospital Wing overnight," Madam Pomfrey added after poking and prodding his arm with the tip of her wand. "I'll give you a round of potions to restore your strength and make the bones heal well, and in the morning you'll be better than ever."

Harry had a strategy session with Professor Sarutobi that night, but the Professor told him he could skip it as per Nurse's orders. Even in his home village, he said with a smile, hospitalization is an acceptable excuse for missing training. Then he warned Harry sternly not to make a habit of it.

That night Harry slept fitfully, dreams of rogue bludgers and giant snakes intruding on his slumber. Then he dreamed he saw a pair of eyes, wide and round as saucers, and heard a voice that said, "Harry Potter" several times, insistently, in a squeaky, high-pitched voice. Then he woke up and realized it wasn't a dream. The House-Elf Dobby perched on his bed, bending over Harry so that his long nose almost touched Harry's own.

"Dobby!" Harry exclaimed, then swallowed his words as Dobby _shushed_ him violently and looked around the room in terror. "Dobby!" Harry hissed, keeping his voice quieter this time. "What are you doing here?"

"Harry Potter shouldn't be here!" the elf said wretchedly. "It's too dangerous for him here!"

The dots were starting to connect themselves in Harry's brain. Dobby had levitated the cake in an effort to keep Harry from going to Hogwarts, and now that Harry thought about it that had only been the first in a series of incidents. "It was you!" he whispered, suddenly growing angry. "You closed the barrier to Ron and me. You made us miss the train!"

Dobby nodded miserably, shrinking away as though he expected to be hit. "Yes," he admitted. "But it was for Harry Potter's own good!"

"Then the bludger," Harry said, beginning to be more than a little ticked off. "Was that you?"

"Yes."

"Were you trying to kill me?" Harry exploded – albeit very quietly. "That's some way of trying to keep me safe."

"Not kill you, sir, never kill you. Dobby only hoped that if you were injured, then perhaps you would be sent back to your aunt and uncle…"

Harry made an effort to gather his wits. He had the rest of the year to go, and he did not want to be dodging Dobby's well-intentioned sneak attacks until final exams. Somehow he had to figure out what Dobby knew, and then reassure the poor elf.

But that was when Harry realized – Dobby said there was something dangerous happening that year at Hogwarts. Could it be…

"Dobby," Harry began, making his voice as gentle as he could, "do you know anything about the Chamber of Secrets?"

Dobby flinched at the title, and nodded vigorously. Harry smiled with relief. "Then you're behind the times," he said quickly. "The monster of the Chamber was unleashed, and the Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor killed it in about ten seconds. No one's going to get hurt because of the monster in the chamber. I know the Heir is still free, but it has to be a student and no student will be able to try anything with the professors all on full alert. Honestly, Dobby, I'm all right. You need to stop this-"

But Dobby was shaking his head more violently with each word that Harry said. Finally he couldn't stand it anymore, and interrupted Harry with a despairing squeak.

"Dobby is glad the monster is dead, sir, but that is not the only danger. There is a new danger, worse than the Chamber could ever be. A hundred, a thousand times worse! Harry Potter will only be safe if he leaves Hogwarts!"

Harry was distinctly annoyed at this point. How many life-threatening disasters could Hogwarts experience in a single year? This was getting ridiculous.

"Can you tell me what the danger is, Dobby?" Harry asked cautiously. When the elf started looking around for hard objects, Harry stopped his immediately. "That's ok, I understand. Don't do anything you'd have to punish yourself for."

It made it decidedly difficult to argue against the House-Elf, but Harry couldn't chance anyone coming along and ending the conversation before he said what he wanted to Dobby.

"Listen, Dobby," Harry said, waiting until Dobby stopped eyeing the stone wall and gave him his full attention. "I appreciate you trying to keep me safe. I really do. But this has to stop. No matter what you do, I'm not going back. Do you think I'd leave my friends alone to face this danger without me? Dobby, if anything happened to them when I was away, I would never, ever forgive myself. Some things are even more important than living, because without them life doesn't mean anything."

Harry saw Dobby about to respond, and kept going in a rush. "That's not all. You have to promise me you won't do anything else to try to injure me, ok? What if the danger came when I was lying in the Hospital Wing? I wouldn't even be able to run away because you injured me."

Dobby was looking more and more ashamed of himself. "Don't even think about going over to that wall," Harry warned. "Look, I really appreciate you looking out for me. But Hogwarts is my home, and Ron and Hermione are like my family. Abandoning them is something I wouldn't do even if I knew it was the only way to live. So will you promise to stop with the attacks?"

Dobby let out a great sigh, and his ears flopped down dejectedly. "Dobby promises. Dobby only hopes that Harry Potter does not come to regret this decision."

"Harry Potter hopes the same thing," Harry said lightly, a little amazed that he had gotten through to the well-meaning elf. "Now, look after yourself, all right? It sounds like you're closer to this danger than any of us. Be careful!"

Dobby started to cry, getting hot, wet tears all over Harry's bedsheet. "Harry Potter truly is a great wizard, to care so for others. Even for wretched Dobby! Oh, Dobby must go…"

But before he left, Dobby gave Harry one last warning. "Tell Professor Dumbledore that danger comes, a danger far more terrible than the Chamber of Secrets. Even more deadly than You-Know-Who himself!"

"Worse than Voldemort?" Harry gasped. Dobby let out a terrified squeak at hearing the name.

Dobby hesitated, looking like he wanted to say more, but then pulled away. "Dobby must not say any more- Dobby must go!"

He disappeared with a crack, leaving Harry more confused than when he'd appeared. _A danger more deadly than Lord Voldemort… what could it be?_

Dobby's words stayed with Harry all night, echoing in his mind and conjuring images of faceless horror. Needless to say, he didn't get much sleep that night.


	12. A Duel With Snape

**A/N: **This is the longest chapter of _The Professor's Journey_ so far, and I think it took me the least time to write. It feels (to me, at least), like the ideas are really flowing, and I should have a new chapter up every couple of days for the next few weeks.

In this chapter there's a little foreshadowing of future events, Sarutobi has a little fun with Snape, and the Golden Trio finally begins to see the results of their training.

**Disclaimer: **I own neither Harry Potter nor Naruto

**Chapter 11: A Duel With Snape**

When Harry got out of the Hospital Wing, the first thing he did was share Dobby's warning with Ron and Hermione. At first Ron wanted to disregard the warning, and instead got mad at Dobby for tampering with the hallowed game of Quidditch. But Harry had long since gotten over his anger with Dobby, and his friends didn't take much persuading to share his opinion that the elf was telling the truth.

"But what can we do about it?" Ron asked matter-of-factly, later that night when they were sitting together in the common room. "Without the elf there's no proof, and without any details about what kind of danger he reckons is coming, we don't know what to do about it."

"We could tell Dumbledore," Hermione offered. Harry nodded – that was the only thing he could think of. He would pass on Dobby's warning, and trust in Dumbledore to make whatever preparations he deemed appropriate.

"I'm going to," Harry told them, "I just wanted to hear what you two thought before I did anything. It just seems so strange. What kind of danger could be greater than Lord Voldemort?"

Ron flinched a little at the name, but not very noticeably. Because Harry made such a point of saying the name, both Ron and Hermione were growing accustomed to it. "Well, you did kind of kick his arse when you were a baby. And you did for Quirrell at the end of last term. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named might have been something once, but after you beat him he sure lost some power. If there's a new Dark Wizard out there, maybe he really is stronger."

"_Another_ one?" Hermione said weakly. "That would be… unfortunate."

"That's the understatement of the century," said Harry. "Honestly, I'm getting tired of all these Dark Wizards – they're popping up like daisies. Why can't we just learn magic in peace?"

He was trying to be flippant, but Ron answered him seriously. "Because there's bad people out there, mate, and they're not going to leave us alone. Looks like Sarutobi's got it right – the best defense is a good offense."

"You've got that right. So we're agreed. I'll tell Dumbledore what Dobby told me, and he'll take it from there. In the meantime, we'll just focus on our training."

Harry went to see Dumbledore the very next day. After Transfiguration class, he told Professor McGonagall that he had something urgent he needed to tell Professor Dumbledore. She didn't ask him any questions, and even led him to the entrance herself. Harry guessed that this had something to do with the events of last year. Professor McGonagall had ignored him when he was trying to tell her about the Sorceror's Stone – if she had listened, he might not have had to face Voldemort alone. So it made sense that when he told her that he had urgent news for Dumbledore, she brought him straight to the Headmaster's Office.

McGonagall came to a stop in front of a gargoyle on the third floor. "Sherbert lemon," the Transfiguration teacher said crisply. The gargoyle slid aside, revealing a tower with a slowly ascending, circular staircase.

"This is where I leave you, Potter," McGonagall said briskly. "At the top of the stairs is the door to the Headmaster's Office. Knock politely and wait until he calls you in."

Harry thanked her and went through the opening. Walking up the stairs was a little strange, because they were constantly traveling upwards themselves. It was like being on a Muggle escalator, only circular and far less smooth. When Harry reached the door at the top of the stairs, he knocked politely as he'd been instructed.

"Come in," came the Headmaster's kind voice. "Ah, it's young Harry," he exclaimed, looking up from a roll of parchment and putting aside a beautiful quill in a nearby ink blotter. "What brings you to my humble abode?"

Harry didn't even hear the question, because he was too entranced by the marvels on display in Dumbledore's office. The shelves were piled high with an eclectic array of magical paraphernalia. Things spun and whizzed and whirled, gave off smoke and tiny bursts of light. There were jars with clear liquid in which otherworldly creatures hung suspended, and paintings of people and places Harry didn't recognize. On a stool in the middle of the room was the Sorting Hat, looking exactly as Harry remembered it from his first year. Behind the door through which he'd arrived was a perch, on which crouched the dingiest-looking bird Harry had ever seen.

Dumbledore coughed politely. Harry blushed with embarrassment – he had been gaping like an idiot. "You can explore to your heart's content," Dumbledore promised, "but you look as if you've come with a purpose. Is there anything you wish to tell me, Harry?"

"Well, uh… yes, actually. I… it's sort of difficult to explain."

He looked down at his shoes, Dumbledore's understanding gaze leaving him a little tongue-tied. "Go on, Harry," Dumbledore encouraged him. "This may be an old man's pride, but I'd like to think there is little you could tell me that would shock me beyond my ability to cope."

Slowly, Harry stumbled through the warning, trying to keep Dobby out of it as much as possible. He didn't want Dobby getting in trouble if word spread because of what he told Dumbledore. Dobby's masters might punish him or worse, and Harry didn't want to be responsible for that.

Dumbledore saw him hesitating, of course, and knew the reason immediately. "There's more to this story than you're telling me, I fear. I presume it's to protect someone who might get hurt should this information spread?"

Harry could only nod. Dumbledore's kind eyes made him feel slightly ashamed, but they also comforted him. Dumbledore nodded emphatically. However, this dislodged a bit of spider web dangling from his hat, which caused him to sneeze violently. When he recovered, he said, "Never fear, Harry. I am not so lost to the meaning of fair play that I would ask you to divulge the identity of your informant. Believe it or not, I think I might have some idea as to what danger your friend was referring to. I will have to consult with some people before making any assumptions, but rest assured that I will be looking into this matter. You did right to bring it to me."

Harry smiled brightly at the Headmaster, reassured. "Thank you, Professor."

"Oh, tush," Dumbledore said with a wave of his hand. "What kind of teacher would I be if I didn't listen to the warnings of my students? A pretty poor one, I'd say! But now that that matter is cleared up, there's something I was hoping to talk to you about."

Harry paused, his attention having once again strayed to the fantastic collection of magical oddments around him. "Sorry Professor," he said sheepishly. "What did you want to talk about?"

"Your training with Professor Sarutobi." Dumbledore shook his head when he saw Harry beginning to look worried. "No, I see where you're heading and that's not it at all. I have no problems with you and your friends learning from him. He has a skill set that I wish more of us possessed. I'm only worried how you are adjusting to the demands of your new schedule. It must be difficult for you."

Harry scratched his head, thinking. "It was at first," he admitted. "The training is really hard, and my schoolwork and Quidditch suffered a little. But now I think I'm getting used to it. I had to miss a session after the Quidditch match against Slytherin, and I was antsy the whole night. I think my body is used to working harder, now."

"That's good to hear," Dumbledore said, looking a little surprised. "Do Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger feel the same?"

"I'm sure they do," said Harry, nodding. "They see how much we're all improving, and it only makes us want to work harder. I remember when Hermione first knocked Ron off his feet when they were sparring. You could have seen her grin from the Astronomy Tower!"

Dumbledore's answering smile was strangely sad. "That's all I wanted to know. I am sure this is for the best, and I only wish we had about a hundred more of Professor Sarutobi. With the dangers we have to face, no amount of preparation is too great."

They lapsed into silence, and Harry took the opportunity to satisfy his curiosity regarding the Headmaster's Office. He found his gaze returning again and again to the bird, which was looking a bit peaky. Then, to his great dismay, the bird burst into flame. Harry jumped back, shouting in alarm. His wand was already out, his body reacting without orders to the threat – it seemed Sarutobi's training had really started to have an effect.

"It's all right, Harry," Dumbledore said, a genuine laugh escaping his throat. "Fawkes is a phoenix, and when the time comes they are reborn from fire. See? He's all right." Sure enough, there was a small bird emerging from the pile of ash, awkward and ungainly.

"Amazing creatures, phoenixes," Dumbledore said with a sigh. "Incredibly loyal, and their tears have healing powers. Fawkes has been a valuable companion to me for many years. Now, I have no wish to be rude, but I have several appointments before the day is over, and I must prepare."

"Oh, right. Thanks again for listening, Professor." Harry turned to go, but stopped when Dumbledore called his name.

"I'm glad that you trust me enough to bring me this warning," Dumbledore said, smiling with such sincere happiness that Harry blushed again.

"Of course, Professor! I trust you more than anyone."

It might have been a trick of the light, but Harry could have sworn he saw a tear appear in the corner of Dumbledore's eye. It was only for an instant, and then the impression was gone. "That means more to me than you know, Harry. I will endeavor to be worthy of that trust."

Harry bowed his head. He felt a little silly, but he also felt that it was the right thing to do. Then he turned on his heel and left the Headmaster's office.

oOoOo

After Dumbledore sent Harry away, he turned to the portrait of Armando Dippet, his predecessor. "Would you mind terribly running down to Professor Sarutobi's office, and asking him if he has a few minutes?"

"No problem at all," the former Headmaster responded cheerily. "I was getting a bit bored in this frame." Then the wizard disappeared from his portrait, off to summon the Defence professor.

While he waited, the Professor went back to his letters. This one was addressed to his old friend, Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody. Dumbledore sighed with regret. Alastor had earned his retirement several times over – Dumbledore felt terrible about asking him to rejoin the fight. But there wasn't a choice. Wizards with experience fighting the Dark Arts were few and far between these days, and Alastor was simply too valuable an ally to ignore. Dumbledore needed allies he could trust, especially now that the Wizarding World had to contend with this Orochimaru fellow.

Dumbledore sighed heavily. As if Voldemort wasn't enough evil for one world to contain.

He was just putting the finishing touches on his letter when there came a knocking at the door. "Hello," Dumbledore called out, "come right in."

The Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor was looking well. Teaching agreed with him, and for the most part his students were a source of joy to him.

"Albus," he said, greeting him with a nod. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Please, sit down," Dumbledore said, conjuring a squashy armchair for Hiruzen's convenience. When the other Professor was comfortable, Dumbledore went straight to the point. "I've just had a visit from one of your pupils. Young Mr. Potter. Through some means of his own, he discovered rumor of a great danger facing Hogwarts. Although he did not tell me where he found the information, he felt the need to warn me, saying that it was supposed to be a danger greater even than Voldemort. Needless to say, I could only think of one candidate that might fit that description."

Sarutobi grimaced, his nose wrinkling as if he'd smelled something foul. "Orochimaru."

"Precisely," Dumbledore nodded. "I assumed it wasn't you who told Harry about this so-called 'danger', because he had no idea what form the danger might take."

Sarutobi deliberated a second before replying. "I haven't told them yet. I want them to feel a little more secure in their skills before I tell them the true magnitude of the danger facing your world. But as soon as I think they are ready, I'm going to tell them. I think you should do the same… about the Prophecy, that is."

Dumbledore bowed his head, accepting the rebuke. "I know it is a foolish old man's whim, but I would prefer not to burden Harry with that knowledge until it is absolutely necessary. Still, I will tell him. When the time is right."

"So why did Harry come to you?" Sarutobi asked, graciously changing the subject. "Does he have new information regarding Orochimaru?"

Dumbledore shook his head. "No, his information was nothing more than a warning. However, it confirmed something for me, which is that Orochimaru is not lying idle. When we heard nothing of him during the first few months, I dared to hope that perhaps you were mistaken. Maybe he died during the journey to this reality… that was what I thought. But such hopes were naïve, and if rumors are already spreading of Orochimaru's power then the course of events is accelerating. I will not be caught unawares when your former student decides to come out of the shadows."

Dumbledore picked up the letter he had just finished writing, and held it out for Sarutobi's inspection. "This is a letter to a retired Auror, a Dark Wizard-catcher, possibly the best who ever lived. He fought Voldemort during the war, capturing many of his lieutenants personally. I have decided to reach out to him for help with my plan. I want to revive the Order of the Phoenix – it is an organization of witches and wizards whom I trust. We fought together during the bad times, when we couldn't trust anyone at the Ministry for fear they were under Voldemort's power. Now that the world may soon come under siege once again, I believe it is time to reinstate the Order."

"I'm glad to hear it," Sarutobi said, respect dawning in his expression. "If this Order is comprised of strong magic-users with experience fighting Dark Magic, then it may be our best hope in fighting Orochimaru. When he comes, he will not be alone. He will have wizards working for him, and possibly other creatures as well. Raising our own army is a vital task to counter him."

Dumbledore winced inwardly at the word "army." He felt almost physically sick at the thought that the Wizarding World might be plunged into war once again. But such squeamishness wasn't helpful, and with an effort of will Dumbledore brought himself firmly back to the task at hand.

"Once I have reached out to the members of the Order, I plan to bring them here to debrief them. Would you mind telling them about Orochimaru? You don't have to explain about yourself, of course. However, you're the only one who knows how this man operates. You can help us determine what spells might be of use against him, and how we can defend ourselves from his machinations."

Sarutobi bowed his head. "I would be honored to help. Rest assured, I will tell them everything I know. I'm confident that with my knowledge and your mastery of magic, we can devise several strategies that even Orochimaru won't be able to overcome."

The combination of knowledge and magic reminded Dumbledore of something he'd been meaning to ask Sarutobi for a while now. He hesitated, not sure if it was appropriate to bring it up. But he had to ask.

"Hiruzen," Dumbledore began, "I just want to ask about your training. I mean no offense, but… do you really believe that it will make a difference? As far as Voldemort is concerned, I can see the point in training Harry. He will have to face Voldermort at some point, and the stronger he is the better his chances are of surviving. But there is no Prophecy about Orochimaru, and Harry has no protection from him in his blood. Neither Harry nor his classmates are prodigies, with the possible exception of Miss Granger, and even then that is only schoolwork and not combat. Will they ever stand a chance against a shinobi as powerful as Orochimaru? I fear that your decision to take them under your wing may only paint targets on their backs, without adequately protecting them."

"You're right about one thing," Sarutobi said, his voice level and serious. "They are not shinobi, nor will they ever be. But that is precisely why I believe that they will not fall against Orochimaru. I will turn their weaknesses into their strengths, and teach them to wield their magic effectively against the shinobi arts. Believe me, Albus, shinobi have weaknesses, and with your help I will teach these youngsters how to exploit those weaknesses. By the end of the year, I would pit those three against any genin squad in Konoha."

Sarutobi smiled mysteriously, his eyes looking far into the distance. "I even have a plan in mind, one that will make my new squad a force to be reckoned with. I swear to you, Albus, before I'm done with them, those youngsters will be a team to strike fear into the hearts of even the strongest shinobi. It's not a plan that will happen overnight, or even this year. But it will happen, mark my words."

Dumbledore watched Sarutobi closely, but could hear only sincerity in his words. Though his greatest wish was still that Harry could live a normal life, there was a small part of his mind that was looking forward to watching how Harry would grow, now that he was setting off on such a strange new path. Dumbledore nodded gravely at Sarutobi.

"I'll hold you to that."

oOoOo

Harry raced across the rough ground, his heart racing and his head turning on a swivel as he searched for the dangers that he knew were waiting. The terrain was rocky and uneven, with many pebbles that could turn an ankle, but Harry spared only a fraction of his attention to make sure that he didn't trip. Straight ahead was his objective, a wall made of earth with a rope hanging down one side. Harry sprinted for the wall, at the very top of which was a small outcropping of rock. On that rock were three wands, one of which was Harry's.

He closed half of the remaining distance in ten seconds, but the wall's guardians soon appeared, rising up into the air from where they'd been waiting behind the wall. It was a swarm of Golden Snitches, but with one major difference. Every so often one of the flying balls would begin to glow red and emit a warning hum. Then, from the center of the golden ball, the red ray that signaled a Stupefy spell would shoot out towards its target. That target, of course, was Harry.

The snitches approached him in a swarm, the golden balls all beginning to glow red. The combined humming from all of them was loud enough to set Harry's teeth on edge. He dodged the first Stunner by jumping to one side, but a second later two rays came at him at once. He went into a diving roll, tucking his head and coming back up to his feet. He continued forward, but he knew it was futile. There were far too many of the snitches, and he would get hit by a Stunner long before he reached the rope anchored to the top of the wall.

He charged in recklessly anyway, right at the cloud of winged guardians coming together in a mass to block his path. Harry broke right exactly as they unleashed dozens of Stupefy spells, which melded to form a bar of red light as thick around as his torso. Harry continued his wide, looping run in a new direction, each step bringing him farther away from the rope.

But that was just fine, because once he was clear of the cloud of angry snitches, Harry saw what he had been waiting for. Hermione and Ron stood together on the wall, their wands in hand. Hermione held Harry's wand as well, and gestured for him to come closer.

"Catch!" she yelled, and flung his wand out into the open air. It tumbled end-over-end, right into Harry's path. He caught it at the base, his hand extended. Harry grinned – now those damn snitches were in for it.

He reversed direction, charging straight back toward the winged guardians of the wall. Hermione and Ron were already firing Reducto curses into the flying swarm, and each successful curse turned another of the snitches into golden rubble. Ron remained defensive, using the shield charm Protego to protect both himself and Hermione from their opponents' counter-attacks.

The snitches had turned to focus on Hermione and Ron once they realized that Harry had only been the bait, and that allowed Harry to come up behind them. He added his own Reducto curses to the mix, and brought down another dozen snitches before the charmed guardians even realized he was there. The three of them together were fast, accurate, and relentless, and after another minute they were victorious. The rocky ground around Harry's feet was liberally coated with the dust that had once made up the Stunning Snitches.

Harry let out a triumphant whoop, and approached the wall where his friends were waiting. Ron and Hermione came down the rope to meet him – like a true gentleman, Ron stepped back and let Hermione climb down first. Harry waved a fist at the two of them in mock anger.

"Next time, you two can be the decoys while I retrieve our wands!" he said gruffly.

Hermione giggled. "Oh, but you run away so well!"

Harry high-fived Ron, who was grinning like a madman. He had come up with the plan, and it had worked perfectly. The spell-casting Golden Snitches were a new addition that Sarutobi had made to their normal obstacle course – according to the Defence Professor, they had been enchanted by Professor Dumbledore. Dodging their attacks helped the Gryffindors' evasion skills, and knocking them out of the air with their own curses was extremely difficult target practice. It was only recently that Harry, Ron, and Hermione had become able to hit them reliably.

Today Professor Sarutobi had tried something new, relieving them of their wands and placing them on the wall, which was guarded by a swarm of the winged sentinels. He called it an exercise in Body, Magic, and Mind: "you have to use your _mind_ to get back your _magic, _all without getting your _body_ knocked unconscious." Needless to say, none of them had been feeling very confident. But Ron's diversion had worked even better than Harry had hoped, and once they had their wands they were able to make short work of the snitches.

"Hey," Harry said, "how did you guys get up to the top of the wall? I thought you were going to run around and climb the rope while I had the snitches distracted, but I never saw you."

Hermione grimaced. "We didn't use the rope. There were enough handholds on the far side that we could scale it without risking being noticed. It wasn't much fun, though."

She held out her hands for Harry to inspect, and the bloody scratches on her palms and fingertips made him wince. Ron's were no better, and Harry was starting to think that maybe being the decoy had been the better end of the deal.

From his observation deck on the far side of the arena, Sarutobi came over to talk to them.

"That was well done," he said judiciously, and the three Gryffindors beamed. Praise from Sarutobi was only given when they truly deserved it. "A smart plan, and excellent spellcasting at the end. I think you three are almost ready to start learning a wider variety of destructive spells. After all, taking out a group of tiny, flying objects is much easier if you have spells that don't travel in a narrow, straight line. One good blast of fire would take most of them out at once. I'll have to talk with Professor Dumbledore about adopting some combat spells to resemble the techniques I'm familiar with. Anyway, you three did good work today. You go on ahead; I'll put the Training Ground back in order, and come up later."

They nodded respectfully, and made their way up the stairs and out of Sarutobi's office. All three of them were exhausted – even by Sarutobi's standards, the day had been brutal. He had worked them even harder than usual that morning, and tacked on their little end-of-the-day wand retrieval after they had put in a full day's training.

Part of why there were so exhausted was that they had spent at least an hour trying to master a new spell. It was meant for close-quarters combat, and Sarutobi told them that it had taken Professor Dumbledore quite some time to invent it.

"I asked him to," Sarutobi had told them, "because you three need to integrate your spell-casting with close-quarters combat. If an enemy gets close to you, waving your wand at them won't do you any good. You need your wand itself to be a weapon."

The new spell was called _Telum Lumina_, and it generated magical energy centered around the user's wand, in the shape of a blade. Sarutobi said that Dumbledore had gotten the idea from the Patronus charm (not that any of the Gryffindors had the slightest clue what _that_ might be), and modified it to make it an effective weapon according to Sarutobi's specifications. The strength of the magic weapon corresponded directly to the user's magical strength. Harry, for example, had managed at the end of their first practice session to cut through a thin piece of cardboard. He was working on a thicker piece of wood, but so far it eluded him. Ron and Hermione had yet to make their magical blades appear fully, but they were determined to practice until they caught up to Harry. Sarutobi assured them that if they became truly adept with the spell, they would be able to cut through solid metal.

Harry was starting to realize that there was a purpose to everything that Sarutobi made them do. He had always been planning on giving them a way to turn their wand into a weapon, in such a way that it wouldn't interfere with their magic.

"I considered trying to make you three learn how to fight with your off hands," Sarutobi had told them, "but thanks to Professor Dumbledore's spell I won't have to. Your wands will serve as long-range _and_ short-range weapons, and I won't have to waste time making you ambidextrous. Not to mention that a blade of pure magical energy will be much more reliable than a sword or a kunai." Harry had been a little afraid to ask what a "kunai" might be.

The sword spell was a little frightening, however, because it was so much more _violent_ than any of the other spells they knew. Practicing martial arts was different when you realized that the ultimate goal was taking someone else's life. Looking at the shimmering blade surrounding his wand, Harry found that truth staring him in the face. They weren't just exercising, meditating, or training for fun – they were trying to turn themselves into lethal weapons. Even though he knew all of the reasons why it was necessary, Harry couldn't help but shiver when he thought about the implications. He knew Ron and Hermione felt the same, because they often wondered what it would be like to use what they were learning in an actual life-or-death situation.

But Dobby's ominous warning was still hanging over their heads, driving the Gryffindors to treat every day of training as if might be their last. Whenever he found himself growing hesitant or nervous about their growing facility with dispensing violence, Harry only had to think back to his fight with Quirrell. He would have given his left arm to have a magical blade or an effective curse with which to bring down Voldemort's tool. Harry also thought, though he didn't share it with anyone, that perhaps if his parents had known what Professor Sarutobi knew, they wouldn't have died. It was a sad thought, but one that spurred him harder than anything else. Their sacrifice wasn't going to be in vain – of that, Harry was certain.

oOoOo

The Polyjuice Potion was nearly halfway done, and the only difficult part had been procuring the final ingredients. Boomslang skin and bicorn horn could only be found in Snape's potions cupboard, and the only time they had access to those was in class. Hermione astounded Harry and Ron – and probably herself as well – by volunteering to steal the ingredients while Harry caused a distraction.

A single firecracker did the trick, reducing the entire classroom to chaos. Snape was settling down startled students more than long enough for Hermione to duck into Snape's office and out again. With those last two ingredients, all they had to do was wait. According to Hermione's notes, they had until Christmas Day before the potion would be ready to drink. Since they already knew that Malfoy and his cronies were staying for the holidays, they had the perfect window of opportunity. So many people would be going home that the Slytherin common room would be mostly empty, and they would be much less likely to get caught.

Even with the prospect of their dangerous adventure in the back of their minds, Harry and his friends had more than enough to keep them occupied. As if their schedules weren't full enough, they found a poster advertising the first meeting of the Dueling Club. The news went around the school just as fast as the rumor about the Heir of Slytherin, the only difference being that people were excited rather than terrified. The meeting was to take place in the Great Hall, exactly a week after Hermione had stolen the final ingredients for the Polyjuice Potion.

All of the Gryffindor second-years left together for the Great Hall at eight in the evening, excited to various degrees by the prospect of dueling. Harry, Ron, and Hermione wondered if Professor Sarutobi would be running things, and if so whether he would teach some of the techniques he'd been teaching them during their training sessions.

Professor Sarutobi was indeed there, as were Professor Flitwick and Professor Snape. The long tables had vanished, and the professors were standing on a stage pushed back against the far wall. What looked like the majority of the school was gathered in front, waiting to see what the teachers had planned.

Professor Flitwick stood on a podium so that his head was level with Professor Snape's. He rapped his wand against the wood, amplifying the sound with magic so that it sounded like a car backfiring. The excited chatter subsided, leaving silence in its wake.

"Ahem," the little Charms Professor cleared his throat loudly. "Recently there has been a surge of interest in the uses of magic in combat. I understand we have my colleague, Professor Sarutobi, to thank for that." He nodded excitedly to Sarutobi, who acknowledged him with a modest wave of his hand. "As a bit of a duelist myself," Flitwick went on, "I decided to reinstate the Hogwarts Dueling Club. From the number of you here, it seems that there is some measure of interest. Dueling has a long and honorable tradition in Wizarding history – it's a test of skill, not a game. What you learn here is dangerous, and I require the utmost respect for the rules. Anyone disregarding those rules will be asked to leave, and will not be able to return. Is that understood?"

The audience nodded as one, and Professor Flitwick beamed proudly at all of them. "I know I have nothing to fear, as all of you are fine, upstanding students. Now, I believe a demonstration would be the best way to begin. My colleagues, Professor Snape and Professor Sarutobi, will hopefully be willing to oblige us. Gentlemen?"

Snape stepped forward, his eyes glinting with a cold satisfaction. "It would be my pleasure."

Harry gave Ron a tight grin. Watching Professor Sarutobi beat up on Snape was a sight he wouldn't have missed for the world. Ron practically shook with excitement, mouthing back, _I love Dueling Club! _Although Hermione was looking a little worried for their teacher, Harry was confident that in a grudge match between the Potions master and the Defence Professor, Sarutobi would come out on top.

Professor Sarutobi inclined his head graciously, accepting Flitwick's invitation, and took up a ready stance across the stage from Snape. Flitwick levitated his platform out of the way, and acted as referee for the benefit of the students watching. "The duelists bow, and then wait for the count," he said, his voice filling the Great Hall. "Cast spells to disarm only. One… two… three!"

Harry was sorely disappointed by what happened next – he'd been expecting Sarutobi to lead with an awe-inspiring display of speed, but the Defence Professor didn't move a muscle. He stood there like a rock as Snape raised his wand, leveled it, and yelled "_Petrificus Totalis!_" Harry was equally surprised by Snape's restraint. He would have expected something a little more vicious, but perhaps with all of the students watching it was an understandable decision.

Sarutobi made a hand seal as Snape's spell approached, and a section of the stage surged up to form a barrier. The spell impacted and fizzled out. Because Snape couldn't see past the barrier, he was the only one who didn't see what happened next. Sarutobi made another hand seal, and suddenly he was standing next to an identical copy of himself. This second Sarutobi wavered in midair and then disappeared, like a heat shimmer or a mirage. Students gasped in awe, making Snape look around quickly, scanning for any new attack. Sarutobi sent the stage back into its normal form, and sent a counter-attack towards Snape in the form of a barrage of water-bullets. Snape displayed dexterity that impressed Harry in spite of himself, by blasting each projectile into oblivion with perfectly aimed Reducto curses.

However, the students soon realized that Professor Sarutobi was only trying to distract Snape. Behind the Potions Master, Sarutobi's clone had materialized once more. He was standing horizontally with his head pointing at Snape, his feet somehow glued to the wall. There was a great gasp from the students, but Snape was too busy fending off Sarutobi's water bullets to notice.

The clone on the wall gave the audience a giant wink and put a finger to his lips. Every eye was glued on him as he took out a spool of wire and began to twirl it. It spun faster and faster, becoming a blur, and then the clone sent the wire out at full speed.

The wire reached Snape just as he was raising his wand to launch a retaliatory curse at Sarutobi. The wire wrapped around his wand securely, and with a simple tug the clone pulled the wand out of Snape's hand. Snape was unable to stop his motion in time, and followed through with his empty wand hand. Then he did a picture-perfect double-take, spinning around to see where his wand had gone. The audience erupted into laughter, and the clone jumped off the wall to give a little bow. Once again it shimmered out of existence, only to reappear next to the original Sarutobi. It handed the wand over, and then winked out of existence with a last, cheeky wave.

Snape was livid – to put it mildly. His face was scarlet with rage, reminding Harry of his Uncle Vernon during one of his episodes. Harry was willing to bet that if Snape had had hold of his wand, Flitwick's "disarm only" rule wouldn't have kept him from launching a truly nasty curse.

Sarutobi bowed apologetically to Snape, and held out his wand. Snape snatched it back with poor grace, and the students applauded thunderously. Flitwick was clapping with the rest, a delighted smile on his face.

"Truly marvelous," he squeaked. "That was a joy to behold – I've never seen spellcasting like that before. In fact, I still don't know how you did it."

Sarutobi coughed modestly. "I may have bent a few rules of Wizarding Duels," he admitted, "but as wands are rare where I come from, I've never had occasion to learn Expelliarmus, the Disarming Charm. Since the goal of this type of duel is to disarm, I had to improvise a little. Tell me, do these students know the Disarming Charm yet?"

Sarutobi's gentle hint reminded Flitwick that he was here to teach, and not research foreign methods of performing magic. He turned to his audience with an embarrassed laugh. "The Disarming Charm, ladies and gentlemen, is invaluable for Wizarding Duels. When performed correctly, it forces your opponent to lose hold of his or her wand. It plays a large part in making Wizarding Duels safe – after all, no matter how strongly you cast it, the worst that can happen is the other person loses their wand. No chance of injury, which is of paramount importance for a school Dueling Club."

After Flitwick demonstrated Expelliarmus a few times, he invited the students to pair up and practice dueling together. He reiterated his concerns about safety, and warned his students to use only those spells which would disarm or distract an opponent from casting. The three professors began walking through the crowd, making sure that the pairs formed quickly and efficiently.

"Time to break up the dream team, I think," Snape sneered as he walked past Harry and his friends. "Potter-" Snape broke off, scanning the crowd. He saw the Slytherins, and a malicious grin spread over his face. "Mr. Malfoy, see if you can't learn a few lessons from our favorite celebrity. Mr. Crabbe, you would be an admirable partner for Mr. Weasley, and Mr. Goyle, why don't you see how Mr. Longbottom manages. Miss Bulstrode, if you wouldn't mind partnering with Miss Granger."

Harry glared at Professor Snape. He must still be embarrassed at how easily Professor Sarutobi had beaten him, so he was taking this opportunity to let his Slytherins target his least favorite students. Well, that was just fine with Harry. The Slytherins were going to get more than they bargained for.

Malfoy was also grinning as he sauntered over, and Harry was just itching for the chance to wipe that smug smirk off of Malfoy's face. Harry realized this was exactly the opportunity that he, Ron, and Hermione had been waiting for – the chance to test their new abilities against their peers, in such a way that no one would get hurt. Of course, if something happened and Malfoy got a little roughed up… Harry didn't think he would cry over it. Harry only hoped that he could beat the greasy git in time to watch his classmates' duels.

Harry was worried about Neville, who was looking slightly green as he watched Goyle cracking his knuckles. "Come on, Neville," Harry whispered encouragingly. "You've been practicing for weeks. You're quicker _and_ smarter than that gorilla. Dodge and weave, and hit him when his guard's down!" Neville smiled at him gratefully, turning to face Goyle with a marginally more confident expression.

"Pairs at the ready!" Flitwick announced, back up on his podium. "One… two… three!"

Malfoy had, predictably, begun moving his wand when Flitwick said "two." Harry was used to far worse trickery from Sarutobi, however, and reacted in time. He took a quick step to the side, letting Malfoy's spell whizz harmlessly past him. Then, immediately after Flitwick finished counting, he cast Expelliarmus for the first time. The jet of green light hit Malfoy in the chest, directly in the center of mass. He was knocked off his feet, and his wand came flying through the air towards Harry. He snatched it deftly with his left hand, looking at it with mild curiosity.

_Is that it? I feel like it should have been harder, somehow._

Harry shook his head, and turned to see how his classmates were doing. Hermione had also opted to try out the new Disarming Charm, and it had worked admirably. Millicent was sitting down with a glazed look on her face, while Hermione carried two wands and a proud smile. Ron, on the other hand, had decided not to take chances with a spell that he hadn't practiced. Instead, by the looks of the hole carved into the floor in front of Crabbe, Ron had aimed a Reducto curse directly in front of his opponent. The resulting debris showered the larger Slytherin, distracting him long enough to allow Ron to nail him in the chest with _Petrificus Totalus._ Crabbe was stretched out, unmoving, on the cold floor. Longbottom and Goyle were still at it, shooting different first-year jinxes at each other. Neville's aim wasn't the best, but he was dodging Goyle's curses with ease. Finally his Leg-Locker curse connected, and Goyle crashed face-first to the floor, letting out a whimper of pain. Ron snorted out loud, while Hermione winced in sympathy. Harry went over to congratulate Neville first-hand, but was waylaid by a fuming Professor Snape.

"Where do you think you're going, Potter? Return Mr. Malfoy's wand this instant!"

"Of course, Professor," Harry answered calmly. "I just didn't want to worry about him hexing me when my back was turned."

A vein twinged in Snape's temple. "Now, Potter!" he barked.

Harry tossed the captured wand contemptuously in Malfoy's direction. The heir to the House of Malfoy was glaring daggers at him, his face flushed with shame. Harry shrugged. "Beginner's luck, I guess." The rage on Malfoy's face was like Christmas come early.

"We'll have a chance to test that, Potter," Snape whispered in a voice of tightly controlled anger. "Professor Flitwick, what do you think of a volunteer pair? Mr. Malfoy looks as though he would appreciate another shot."

Professor Flitwick proved that he was oblivious to reading currents of tension by accepting the proposition with excitement. "Oh, that's an excellent idea. Listen up, everyone! We're going to have a student demonstration!"

Malfoy was on his feet by now, and stalked up to the stage without saying a word to Harry. Harry winked at his classmates, all of whom were looking very pleased with themselves. Then he went up to stand opposite Malfoy. As Flitwick was moving the podium out of the way, Harry thought he saw Snape whisper something to Malfoy. He couldn't tell what was said, but Malfoy nodded curtly.

This time when Flitwick started the countdown, Malfoy didn't cheat. Harry reflected that it was amazing what difference having an audience made. As soon as Flitwick finished the count, Malfoy burst into action. "_Serpensortia_!" he cried. From the tip of his wand came a small explosion, and to Harry's dismay a large black snake emerged swiftly, landing between them and hissing angrily.

Harry had felt adrenaline before, but never had it affected him as it did then. It was as if he had been dumped in a bathtub filled with ice water, yet at the same time his senses sharpened and he viewed the world with an unfamiliar clarity. His mind processed the situation just as Sarutobi had taught him, identifying the threats and classifying them in the blink of an eye.

_The snake is too close, _Harry realized. _If I try to hex it and miss, it could strike. I also can't block Malfoy's spells until I deal with the snake. That's it, then: first the snake, then Malfoy._

All of this flashed through his head in an instant, and he sprang into action just as Professor Snape was opening his mouth, about to say something. "_Telum Lumina_!" Harry whispered, and saw gratefully that the insubstantial blade appeared much faster around his wand then it had the last time he practiced using it. The snake moved as he did, striking far faster than he did, but not quite fast enough. The shimmering blade that Harry's wand had become sheared through the snake at a point several inches past its head. Harry's attack wasn't strong enough to cut through a wooden board, but the snake's body presented little problem. The unattached head went flying through the air, eliciting high-pitched shrieks from many of the students in the audience.

Harry was moving before the snake's headless body hit the floor, rolling to his right to avoid any spell that Malfoy might cast. He came to one knee, the magical blade disappearing and revealing his outstretched wand. "_Expelliarmus!_"

The sight of Malfoy's wand soaring through the air towards him was every bit as satisfying the second time.

Remembering the way that Sarutobi's clone had acted after disarming Snape, Harry turned and gave a little bow. For a second there was silence, a silence so loud it almost echoed off the walls. Then the Great Hall erupted with applause.


	13. Disturbing Discoveries

**A/N: **A couple of people have asked why Harry didn't speak Parseltongue during the Dueling Club. That decision was deliberate, both on my part and Harry's part. Harry knows that the voice he heard earlier belonged to the Basilisk, and he's smart enough to realize that if people knew that, they might suspect him of being the Heir. Also, the only reason Harry had to speak Parseltongue during the duel in canon was because the idiot Lockhart pissed it off and sent it towards Justin. Since the snake this time was only targeting Harry, his first instinct was not to speak to it but to neutralize the threat himself.

So the major difference at Hogwarts, besides the Basilisk being dead, is that this time Harry isn't suspected of being the Heir. There's a lot of fear about who the Heir might be, but not a lot of suspicion aimed at any particular individual. Harry's ability to speak Parseltongue is a source of confusion for him, and so far he hasn't shared it with his friends or teachers. That may change down the road.

This chapter has a lot of elements from canon, but it also represents a major shift away from canon – you'll see what I mean once you read it, and I hope you enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **I own neither Harry Potter nor Naruto

**Chapter 12: Disturbing Discoveries**

In the aftermath of the Dueling Club, Harry became something of a celebrity – that is, to the extent that someone who is already famous can become a celebrity. News of his duel with Draco traveled at near faster-than-light speed through the school's gossip channels, and soon everyone seemed to think that Harry was a Dueling prodigy. Harry was embarrassed by the attention, not least because it blew his abilities far out of proportion. Hermione and Ron were just as good as he was, and surpassed him in many ways: Hermione picked up new spells before he could even remember their names, and Ron was constantly taking the lead in devising their team strategies. But Harry had been the one on the stage, and so he was the one talked about. He worried that Ron might get jealous, but his friend surprised him with his maturity in shrugging it off.

"I know you didn't ask for that, mate," Ron said. "Besides, it's better if everyone focuses on you, right? Then they'll underestimate Hermione and me, and we'll have an advantage over any potential enemies." Harry could only duck his head, grateful that his friend was being so understanding.

It soon became clear that Draco was not going to forget his humiliation soon. His comments in class and at meals, while always mean, took a nasty turn for the worse in the days leading up to the Christmas holidays. "Mudblood" was the least of it – he made sly insinuations about Ron and Harry's parents, and never missed an opportunity to make a hateful comment about their friends. Harry and Ron came very close to hexing him numerous times, and it was only thanks to Hermione that they were able to keep their cool.

"He wants to get a rise out of you," she told them again and again. "If you attack first, he wins. That's why he makes sure not to say anything when there's a Professor or a witness around – so he can say that you cast the first spell without being provoked. The only way to beat him is to ignore him."

Still, the constant taunting would have grown to be too much to bear, if it hadn't been for the knowledge that in a very short time the Polyjuice Potion would be ready. There would be no greater revenge than sneaking into the Slytherin common room and incriminating Malfoy based on evidence that he gave them himself. Whenever Malfoy's barbed comments made Harry see red, he made himself focus on the prospect of the Headmaster kicking Draco out of school for good.

"Even if the greasy git is innocent," Ron had said once, after a particularly vitriolic comment about 'Muggle-loving blood traitor scum', "we can still set off a Dungbomb in his bed. That would make me feel a _little_ better."

Though it seemed to the three friends to take forever, the days passed until, at last, the holidays arrived. Because of the looming threat of the Heir of Slytherin, there was a mad rush to take the Hogwarts Express home for Christmas. Many students, however, had elected to spend their holidays at Hogwarts out of solidarity with Dumbledore and the staff. They wanted to make a statement that they would not fear for themselves at Hogwarts while the teachers were there to protect them. Among these brave students were the Prefects, which meant that Percy Weasley would be staying. The rest of the Weasleys still at Hogwarts did the same, even Ginny. The girl had yet to make a coherent sentence in Harry's presence, but her decision to stay impressed him quite a bit. She had always seemed so frightened, yet she was willing to stay at Hogwarts like her brothers, in defiance of the still-mysterious Heir. Harry promised himself that before the year was over, he would have an actual conversation with Ginny. He didn't know when that would be, though, because the girl still disappeared like a ghost when he was around.

Christmas arrived in due time, and it was brilliant, as only Christmas at Hogwarts could be. Even though it was his second year experiencing a real Christmas, it was still almost too much good fortune for Harry to take in. With the small exception of the toothpick Harry got from the Dursleys, his presents were fantastic. His hand-knit sweater from Mrs. Weasley made Harry feel warm inside, and reassured him that she had stopped holding the incident with the flying car against him.

After they finished opening their presents, Hermione told them that the Polyjuice Potion was ready. Ron joked that it was certainly ready, if by "ready" she meant "disgusting and quite possibly poisonous." Harry had to agree – looking at the bubbling, squelching mess in Hermione's spare cauldron, he was definitely not looking forward to drinking it. Hermione did not think Ron's joke was very funny.

"Everyone will be at the feast, so it makes sense to go right after," she declared in her best no-nonsense voice. "All you need now are a few hairs from the person you want to change into. Crabbe and Goyle are always with Malfoy, so they're your best choices."

When Harry asked how Hermione thought they should get the hairs, he was shocked to find that she was advocating assault and kidnapping. She overrode his objections flatly. "We said we were going to do this, and it's too late to back out now. I'm going to make a simple sleeping draft and fill two small cakes with it – we just need to make sure your targets eat them, and then we can hide them somewhere until we're done. The potion only lasts an hour."

"Who's your target?" Harry asked curiously. Hermione's eyes gleamed.

"Pansy Parkinson. I swung by her cauldron after stealing the ingredients from Snape's cupboard, and pretended to trip. She was so angry she didn't realize that I yanked a few of her hairs. I figured she'd be perfect because she's always hanging around Draco."

Harry scratched his head. "That's good for you, but I don't know how I feel about practically poisoning Crabbe and Goyle. This is almost like Snow White and the Seven Dwarves, only instead of a poisoned apple we're using cake. You know that makes us the bad guys, right?"

Harry was suddenly visited with the disturbing image of Crabbe and Goyle deep in an enchanted sleep, waiting for their Prince to come rescue them with a kiss. Blurgh. Maybe this wasn't like Snow White after all.

Ron was looking very confused – he wasn't very good with Muggle references. Hermione just shrugged. "Sometimes you have to be bad, if there's no other way to do a good thing."

Ron looked at her in astonishment. "Who are you and what have you done with Hermione?"

She blushed a delicate pink, then coughed and resumed her practical manner. "Right, so we know how we're getting the hairs. The only thing left is making sure that nothing goes wrong when we actually get to the dungeons. Harry, you wanted to use Fred and George's Map, right?"

"That's right. The Marauders' Map will lead us straight to the Slytherin common room, _and_ it will let us find Malfoy and know who else is around. We'll also have bring the Invisibility cloak, just in case something happens and we can't escape before the potion wears off."

Ron was looking a little awed. "You know," he breathed, "this just might work!"

They agreed to split up, and meet up again before the Feast. Hermione had to make the sleeping potion, while Harry and Ron went to ask the twins if they could borrow the Marauders' Map again. The deal was the same as before – they could borrow the Map if they shared the details of its use. After hearing the details of their plan, Fred and George were once again left open-mouthed with surprise.

"Brother mine," Fred said gloomily, "if things continue as they are, history will forever remember us as the second-best pranksters of our time. I believe that the time has come-"

"-for us to step up our game." George finished. "I couldn't agree more."

As Harry and Ron left to meet back up with Hermione, the determined gleam that came into the twins' eyes made them shiver. They had a bad feeling that Hogwarts was about to get hit by a wave of pranking, and it would be entirely their fault for making the Weasley twins fear that they were losing their touch.

The feast was as fantastic as it had been the year before, if not more so. The decorations were unbelievable, featuring a dozen enormous trees and enchantments that transformed the Great Hall into a winter wonderland. Professor Dumbledore led everyone in singing a few carols, and he even prevailed upon Professor Sarutobi to sing a celebratory song from his home country. There were a few alarmed looks as students realized how many times the song contained the phrase, "blood of our foes."

Harry did his best not to look at Malfoy, who was being his usual intolerable self at the Slytherin table. He didn't want to give anything away, and he was sure that his anticipation was showing in his face.

They left early to lie in wait for the greedy Slytherins. They were easy to waylay, seeing as how they stayed in the Great Hall after everyone left in order to have fourth helpings of dessert. Harry, Ron, and Hermione hid behind a suit of armor after placing the cakes in full view of the stairs. Harry was vaguely astonished at how effective Hermione's plan turned out to be. Draco's goons saw the cakes and their faces lit up with joy. Thirty seconds after they stuffed them in their greedy mouths, they fell backwards in a deep sleep. The Gryffindors hid them in a nearby broom closet, stole their shoes and a few hairs, and made their way up to the third-floor bathroom.

"We're good at this," Harry whispered, astonished. "If magic doesn't work out for us as a career, we could always start a life of crime."

"Oh, stop kidding around, will you Harry?" Hermione snapped, still on edge from their blatant rule-breaking (it might have been law-breaking as well – Harry wasn't sure). "Here, put on these robes. I took them from the laundry – you two will need bigger sizes once the potion starts to work."

Harry and Ron went into separate stalls to put on the larger robes and shoes, and came back out to drink the potion. It seemed to stare at the three of them, bubbling rebelliously in its cauldron.

Hermione ladled a generous portion of the sludge into three glasses, and they each added the hairs they'd collected. At Harry's suggestion, they left to drink their potion in separate stalls.

Harry had experience with bad tastes before – even if you didn't count the slop that the Dursleys had fed him for years, he had had several unfortunate experiences with Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans. But Harry still thought that Polyjuice Potion was officially the worst thing he'd ever tasted. It was like burnt cabbage, but slimy. And no Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Bean, not even the vomit-flavored one he'd been unfortunate enough to eat once, had set his insides on fire.

At least, that was as close as Harry could come to describing what it felt like. He thought for sure he was dying, burning up from the inside as his body writhed. Then he saw his hands begin to bubble and bulge as the transformation began. All over his body he felt himself begin to stretch, and the pain only intensified as he grew. Then, all of a sudden, it stopped.

Harry rushed out of the stall to look in the mirror, and it was Gregory Goyle who stared back at him. The close-set piggy eyes, the short, bristly hair – in short, Harry was the spitting image of Draco's follower.

"Eeurgh!" the sound came from Ron's stall, but it didn't sound like Ron. He emerged, and even though Harry was expecting it, he still jumped when he saw Crabbe's ugly face. Hermione joined them a second later, nausea warring with satisfaction to make a very strange combination on Pansy Parkinson's face.

"Wow," Ron said in amazement, waving his hands around in front of the mirror. "You do good work, Hermione."

"Thanks, Ron," Hermione said in Pansy's nasal twang. Harry wouldn't have been surprised to find out that this was the first time Pansy's voice had ever expressed gratitude. Equally surprising was the brisk, business-like tone that followed, which was so obviously Hermione even though the voice was Pansy's. "We don't have any time to waste – our hour's already begun. Let's get under the Invisibility Cloak and head to the Slytherin common room. Do you have the Map, Harry?"

Harry patted the inner pocket of his over-sized robes, where he had stashed the Marauder's Map after changing. "Right here."

They all huddled together and Harry draped the cloak around them. They'd grown a little since last year, and it was starting to be a tight fit with all three of them. Harry unrolled the Map and whispered the words to activate it. He found the Slytherin common room with little trouble – he already knew it was in the dungeons somewhere, and once in the vicinity the labeled room was quite easy to spot. The dot that represented Malfoy was not in the common room, but Harry could see that their nemesis was making his way in that direction. They would intercept him before he reached the common room, and that would save them from having to figure out the Slytherin password.

They left the bathroom and began navigating the halls, wanting to get somewhere a little less incriminating before they unveiled their Slytherin disguises. Harry glanced at the Map in order to make sure that the coast was clear.

Harry froze. The Marauders' Map showed the three of them as they were, walking down the third-floor corridor, but next to them… there was another name. A fourth dot traveled with them, and the name _Peter Pettigrew_ was so close it overlapped with their own names. Harry gave a gasp of surprise and whirled about, searching for the person that, according to the Map, was right next to them.

"What is it, Harry?" Ron asked, as he and Hermione both tensed up, drawing their wands.

"The Map shows someone near," Harry whispered. "Peter Pettigrew…"

There was a loud squeak, and then Ron yelled, "Ow!" He jumped, partially pulling the cloak away from the two of them. He clutched his breast pocket, his expression one of complete shock. "Scabbers bit me!" he exclaimed. "Wait… where'd he go?"

They heard the scrabbling of little feet on the floor, and then Scabbers rounded a corner and disappeared from sight. Harry took another look at the Map, and his suspicions were confirmed – just as Scabbers was running away from them, the name Petter Pettigrew was also retreating on the Map.

"Scabbers!" Ron cried out, about to run after his pet. Harry grabbed him by the shoulder.

"Ron, stop!" He felt instinctively that something was not right, but they didn't have time to go chasing a rat all over Hogwarts. "We have less than an hour left! We can find him after we interrogate Malfoy!"

Ron cast one last, despairing look after his fleeing rat, and then nodded sadly. "Yeah. I'm worried about him, though – I've never seen him act like that. Lucky we've got the Map to find him, and he won't get far in just an hour. Hey," he said, turning back to Harry, "you said something about the Map earlier. Someone next to us, or something like that?"

Harry thought hard, wondering what was the best course to take. Somehow he didn't think Ron would take kindly to hearing that his rat was actually someone named Peter Pettigrew. Harry wanted to figure out what was going on before he said anything.

"Nothing," he replied quickly. "It's gone now." Harry noticed Hermione watching him with concern, but he mouthed at her, "_later_." She nodded reluctantly, knowing as well as Harry did that their mission to infiltrate Slytherin House was already behind schedule.

The rest of their trip to the dungeons went without any further incidents. Harry timed things perfectly, bringing the three of them into the stony hallway that opened into the common room just as Draco approached from a different direction. The Invisibility Cloak and the Map were tightly stowed inside Harry's robes, and together the Gryffindors approached their nemesis.

"Ah, so you two were with Pansy?" Malfoy drawled. "I thought you might still be up in the Great Hall. Honestly, you two eat more than a hungry giant."

"Um…" Harry stalled, not sure how to respond. But it seemed that Malfoy didn't notice anything odd about the way he was acting, so perhaps Crabbe and Goyle were often confused by simple comments. Malfoy led them to a blank section of the wall and said, "Pure blood."

Harry shivered with anger at the password, but restrained himself as a hidden stone door swung open. The Slytherin common room was in keeping with the dungeon theme, although green lamps hanging from chains cast enough light to see, and a roaring fireplace gave the stone room a bit of cheer. It was nothing like the Gryffindor common room, but Harry was willing to admit that he was prejudiced.

Hermione wasn't quite sure how to act, because she didn't know how close Pansy normally stayed to Malfoy when they were in the common room. Malfoy solved that problem by arching an eyebrow at her expectantly. "What are you waiting for, Parkinson?" he drawled. "I'm talking with Crabbe and Goyle."

Hermione started violently, and stammered that she was sorry. She began to move away and give the three of them some privacy. Harry coughed, interrupting her. He walked over and took the Marauders' Map out of his inner pocket. It looked like an innocent role of parchment, so Malfoy wouldn't suspect a thing. "Thanks for lending us your notes, Pansy," Harry said in his new growly voice. With his back to Malfoy, Harry risked making a motion with his hand, like he was checking a watch.

Hermione's eyes widened as she understood what Harry wanted. While they talked to Malfoy, she would be the lookout. She would keep time and make sure they left before the potion wore off, and she would use the Marauders' Map to ensure that nothing disastrous happened, like the real Pansy coming back or the unconscious Crabbe and Goyle waking up.

Hermione nodded, communicating with her eyes that she understood. "No problem."

Malfoy looked oddly at Harry. "Goyle, are you _studying_ now? Don't work too hard – you'll hurt your brain."

"I… I just…" Harry muttered, wracking his brain frantically, "…didn't want to fail."

"Oh, is it that bad?" Draco said, a faint sneer appearing on his face. "I thought you two were scraping by all right. I've let you copy my homework enough that you should be doing just fine."

Harry shrugged, not wanting to stay on this topic any longer than necessary. Draco appeared to remember something, and turned to face Ron. "Did you do what I asked you to?" he demanded.

"I, uh-" Ron stammered, looking like he'd been punched unexpectedly in the gut. "What?"

"Come on," Draco snarled, "don't tell me you forgot already? I asked you to check with Filch to see if anything's been happening to my mail."

"Oh, I, um… forgot…" Ron finished lamely. Draco was annoyed, but didn't seem all that surprised. "I'll do it first thing tomorrow!" Ron promised.

"Make sure you do," Malfoy said firmly. "I'm sure something's wrong. Father usually sends me updates from work, and my mother never goes a week without sending a care package. But it's been almost a month, and there's been nothing."

Malfoy's expression was slightly… disappointed, making Harry feel something almost like pity. His jaw dropped, so shocked was he at this disruption of the natural order of things.

Harry had never before considered that Draco could experience an emotion as normal as missing his mother. In fact, thinking of Draco as actually having a mother was strange as well. A pet dragon, perhaps, or a hidden dungeon under his manor in which he tortured Muggles for sport – but not a mother that sent him care packages.

But Malfoy erased the seed of pity that Harry was beginning to feel with his next words. "I was hoping my father might send me more information on what happened the last time the Chamber of Secrets opened."

Ron shared a shocked look with Harry. "The last time?"

"That's right," Draco said. "The Chamber was opened fifty years ago. But last time, a student _died_. I wonder if that will happen this time, now that the basilisk's dead. The Heir will have to come up with something new. Oh, I _wish_ I knew who it was!" he cried out in sudden frustration. "I could help them!"

That was it – Harry didn't care if Malfoy had a thousand mothers, and loved every single one of them. He was a foul little git who hated anyone different from himself.

Harry tried to fish for a little more information. "You don't have any idea who it is?"

"How many times have I told you?" Malfoy demanded. "You know I haven't a clue. But if the Heir is a true Slytherin, he'll find a way to weed out the Mudbloods without the Basilisk's help. All it takes is one lesson, and they'll go running. The Board would sack Dumbledore right away. Maybe we'll get lucky, and the Heir will make an example of that jumped-up Mudblood Granger," he said with a vindictive sneer.

Ron took a step toward Malfoy before he could stop himself, his face suffused with rage. Harry grabbed his arm quickly, hoping Malfoy wouldn't catch on. "What's the matter with you?" Malfoy demanded, staring at Ron as if he had grown an extra head.

"…stomachache…" Ron muttered through clenched teeth. Harry realized with regret that they wouldn't learn anything more from Malfoy. He didn't know how much time was left in their hour, but it wasn't much. Even if they loitered in the common room for another couple of minutes, they wouldn't come any closer to the identity of the Heir of Slytherin. That meant that now was the time to get out.

"I'll take you to the Hospital Wing," Harry said to Ron, winking at him subtly. It took his friend a second to catch on, but when he did he threw himself into the act, holding his stomach and groaning convincingly.

"Yeah…good idea, it really hurts."

Malfoy dismissed them with a snort, saying that it was no wonder Crabbe had a stomachache when he ate so much at the Feast. Harry left, still clutching Ron's arm as his friend had not gotten over the comment about Hermione. Hermione saw them leaving and gathered her things surreptitiously, rolling up the Marauders' Map and heading casually for the door.

Once clear of the common room they ran out of the dungeons, paused long enough to leave Crabbe and Goyle's shoes outside the broom closet in which they were trapped, and ascended the stairs to Moaning Myrtle's bathroom.

By that time they were back to their normal selves – the reversion process went much more smoothly than the original transformation. Hermione began cleaning out the inside of the cauldron by casting _Scourgify_, while Ron and Harry quickly put on their shoes.

"He's not the Heir," Harry told Hermione bitterly. "Said he doesn't have a clue who it is."

"What a waste of effort," Ron said with disgust. He hurried to clarify as Hermione looked up with outrage. "I don't mean it wasn't a good idea!" He waved his hands in front of him like a shield. "It was brilliant, I just wish it had helped us learn something."

Hermione let out a sigh, seeming to deflate before their eyes. "I guess it was a little too obvious to be Malfoy. He hasn't exactly been subtle about his hatred of Muggleborns. The Heir is probably much more circumspect. It might not even be a Slytherin at all!"

But Harry wasn't really concerned with the Heir anymore. His mind had been largely preoccupied with something else, ever since Scabbers had run away after hearing the name "Peter Pettigrew." He promised himself that he was going to get to the bottom of this mystery.

oOoOo

It wasn't long after they returned to Gryffindor Tower that Ron forgot about his disappointment that Malfoy wasn't the Heir, and remembered about his runaway rat.

"Where is he, Harry?" Ron asked, a little fear creeping into his voice. "You tracked him on the Map, didn't you?"

Harry had been dreading this question, for he had indeed been keeping an eye on where Peter Pettigrew's name was. And as of five minutes after they left the Slytherin common room, he couldn't find the name anywhere on the Map. There was no "Scabbers" anywhere, either. Harry feared that Ron's rat had scarpered.

"I, uh, don't see him anywhere," Harry stammered, feeling terrible. If they had chased after Scabbers instead of going on their useless mission to Slytherin House, then Ron wouldn't have lost his pet _and_ they might be able to figure out the mystery of Peter Pettigrew.

Ron snatched the Marauders' Map away from Harry hastily, his face growing redder with each second as he scanned the parchment desperately for his lost rat.

"I don't understand," he muttered. "He's just a little rat – he couldn't have gone far. Oh, no… there's Mrs. Norris! D'ye reckon-"

"No way, Ron," Hermione declared firmly. "There's no way one wizard's familiar would eat another, I'm sure of it. There have to be loads of places in this castle that aren't on the Map. Scabbers is so small he could even be in the walls, or something. We'll find him, never fear! Neville is always losing Trevor, but he always comes back!"

Ron looked marginally more comforted when she mentioned Trevor's recurring disappearing acts, but as long as Scabbers was gone he was incapable of thinking or talking of anything else. Finally he stalked out of the Tower while clutching the Marauder's Map in white-knuckled fingers, determined to find his rat. They could hear his shouts of "Scabbers" even through the portrait of the Fat Lady, gradually growing weaker as he moved farther away.

The moment they couldn't hear his voice any more, Hermione rounded on Harry. "Spill!" she said. "You were holding out on Ron earlier. What's this about? Do you know why Scabbers ran away?"

Harry sighed unhappily. He felt terrible about not telling Ron the truth, but things would be much less complicated if he knew the whole story before he shared any suspicions with Ron. The poor boy really did love his rat.

"Remember when I said the Map was showing another person next to us?" he asked. Hermione nodded, eyes wide. "Well, when I said the name – Peter Pettigrew – that was exactly when Scabbers bit Ron and ran away." Hermione gasped, seeing where this was going. "That's right," Harry confirmed. "I checked the Map, and the name Peter Pettigrew left in the exact same direction as Scabbers, at the same time. There was no name for 'Scabbers,' just this Peter fellow. I think they're the same."

"But how…" Hermione started to ask, but her mind was already racing. Harry knew that she would figure out the possible implications much quicker than he could. "Scabbers must be Peter Pettigrew, whoever he is," she said at last. "Which means Scabbers isn't a rat at all – if he was just a rat, his name would be what Ron calls him. I mean, Hedwig shows up as Hedwig on the Map, right?"

Harry nodded, having checked this surreptitiously after leaving the Slytherin common room.

"So that means that Ron's rat is actually a person," Hermione said, horrified.

"That's the only explanation I can think of," Harry agreed, "and if so, it's a person that doesn't want to be found. Scabbers ran away when I said the name – that means he's keeping his identity secret for some reason."

Hermione looked distinctly uncomfortable. "Ron probably won't believe us unless we have proof," she said worriedly. "Especially since he's already angry at us for deciding not to chase Scabbers after he ran away."

She was right, which was exactly why Harry hadn't said anything to Ron in the first place. "We're just going to have to find proof," he declared. "There's two weeks left before next term starts, right? We'll have all the time we need to do research. If we found Nicholas Flamel, we can find Peter Pettigrew. What do you say?"

Hermione squared her shoulders with determination. "I'm in." Then she laughed, startling Harry out of his suspicious thoughts about rats in disguise. "Wow, Harry, I must be rubbing off on you - I never thought you'd want to spend Christmas break in the library!"


	14. A Rat Named Peter

**A/N: **Hello again! This chapter, like the last few, doesn't have much action. I'm trying to bring everything into place logically and methodically, setting the stage for events that will happen later. I think of it as lining up dominos - but next chapter, instead of knocking them down, Sarutobi gets to blow the dominos up. Our favorite Defence Professor will go head to head with the Aurors and Dementors of Azkaban, with huge consequences for Hogwarts and our heroes.

By contrast, this chapter is mostly research in the library, with some heart-warming moments near the end. I also found a new use for the Marauders' Map that I hope people will like. Enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **I own neither Harry Potter nor Naruto

**Chapter 13: A Rat Named Peter**

Ron turned very cold towards Harry and Hermione as a result of the Scabbers incident. It wasn't necessarily that he blamed them for losing Scabbers, but he resented them for convincing him not to run after his pet immediately. He couldn't avoid them because of their daily training and meals in the Great Hall. But he didn't speak to them unless he had to, and it was clear to his two friends that Ron needed some time.

Harry was determined to bring his friend back to normal, so he wasted no time in starting the search for Pettigrew. He and Hermione took advantage of their extra free time to make frequent trips to the library. They told Madam Pince that they had a research project for Professor Sarutobi, but the sour old librarian still watched them with a large dose of suspicion. Harry was also slightly dismayed to find that they kept running into Percy while in the library – apparently not even holidays were enough to keep the Prefect from hitting the books. He seemed very surprised to find Harry going to the library, and was only disappointed that Ron didn't seem inclined to follow his friends' example. It was very difficult for Harry to keep from rolling his eyes – Percy was perhaps the only Weasley that Harry didn't enjoy spending time with. Well, him and Ginny, but Ron had assured Harry that she was normally much more fun, saying that he hoped she would adjust to life at Hogwarts soon.

The library was Hermione's domain, and Harry was astonished at how efficiently she maneuvered around the dusty bookshelves. She seemed to know where everything was located, and used her knowledge to draw out a preliminary plan.

"I already researched spells that might turn people into an animal," she said briskly, making Harry wonder when she had found the time. "Most are Transfiguration spells, and a rat is one of the options. However, the longest a spell like that will last is about a day – any longer and the spell breaks down by itself."

Harry thought about that. "But Scabbers has been in Ron's family for years," he objected. "I'm sure they'd have noticed if a random stranger appeared every other day, or if Scabbers went missing often. I mean, you see how upset Ron is – I doubt Scabbers has _ever _gone missing, which means he couldn't have transformed back into a human without being seen."

Hermione nodded emphatically, and plopped a heavy book down on the table. The cover had a line of pictures, each one a different stage in the transformation of a man. At the end of the transformation the man had become a lion. The title was, "_Animagi Through the Ages_._"_

Harry frowned at the book. It was much thicker even than his History of Magic textbook, so he disliked it on principle. "What's this?"

"This," Hermione said, patting the book as she might have a loyal pet, "is the answer. An animagus is a wizard who can transform him- or herself into an animal. It's terribly difficult, but the rewards are considerable. It's not like a spell that can wear off – you're an animal as long as you want, and yet your intelligence remains the same. It says in here that Animagi have acted as spies as far back as recorded history can trace!"

Harry was a little skeptical. "So this Pettigrew is an Animagus? But why would anyone want to spy on the Weasleys?"

"An Animagus doesn't have to be a spy," Hermione said patiently, "I just mentioned it in passing. And I don't know for sure if Pettigrew is an Animagus, I just haven't found any other spell that can enact a long-term animal transformation."

"That makes sense, then," Harry agreed, "but does it help us? I mean, so what if he's an Ani-whatsit? It doesn't help us find him, does it?"

Hermione beamed at him, the research-induced joy shining from her brown eyes making Harry feel a little queasy. "But that's just it! By Ministry law, every wizard who becomes an Animagus has to register – if they don't they can be arrested. So if Pettigrew is an Animagus-"

"-his name will be recorded by the Ministry!" Harry finished for her, almost shouting.

Madam Pince materialized from behind a nearby bookshelf, making Harry wonder if she had been trained by Professor Sarutobi as well. "Shh!"

"Sorry," Harry and Hermione whispered in unison. When the librarian left, Harry turned to Hermione with a triumphant grin. "You're absolutely brilliant! Where can we find the Ministry records?"

Hermione wasn't sure, but it didn't take her long to find out. She approached Madam Pince with a carefully crafted story about a Defence assignment on unorthodox magic, asking if the Ministry lists of Animagi were open to the public, and if so, whether Hogwarts had access to them. Madam Pince directed her to the Archives section, which consisted of filing cabinets filled with copies of Ministry laws, court cases, and the records of official meetings.

Harry stared at the filing cabinets in dismay. It would take months to even skim through all of that! But Hermione was undaunted. She took out her wand and tapped it against the side of one filing cabinet, then said slowly and clearly, "Registered Animagi. List."

There was a small humming sound, and the filing cabinet gave a little jump. Then one of the drawers, the second from the bottom, began to glow green. "Aha!" Hermione exclaimed triumphantly.

She turned and saw Harry watching her with a perplexed expression. "Reference spells," she said, blushing a little. "After we had such trouble searching for Nicholas Flamel last year, I asked Madam Pince if there were more efficient ways of searching for specific books or titles. I even know a spell to search for words within a book – every book and article in here has been enchanted to respond to it."

Harry watched as Hermione opened the glowing cabinet, and began flicking through the sheaves of parchment within. The one she was looking for was glowing as well, and only stopped when she pulled it out to take a look. At the top of the parchment, in big, official letters, were the words, "A List of all Animagi in Great Britain and Eastern Europe, Living or Deceased, Compiled in 1985."

"The spell finds the most recent edition," Hermione told Harry. "Now all we have to do is find Pettigrew's name, and that will point us in the right direction."

She tapped her wand carefully against the parchment and murmured, "_Vox Reperio: Pettigrew_."

Nothing happened. She repeated the spell once more, frowning slightly. Still nothing.

"What does that mean?" Harry asked.

Hermione glared at the piece of parchment as if it had personally insulted her. "It means that unless the spell failed, Pettigrew isn't on this list."

In order to make doubly sure, they checked every name on the list themselves, back to 1900. As it turned out there weren't that many names to check – it seemed that only a handful of witches and wizards became Animagi every few years. But sure enough, there were no mentions of a Peter Pettigrew, and only one Animagus in the last forty years had turned into a rat – his name was Barnabus Murgentroyd, and Harry was confident that they could disregard him.

Harry was stumped. "So what do we do now?"

Hermione put away the list of registered Animagi and closed the drawer vehemently. "I'm not willing to give up on him being an Animagus quite yet. This is only a list of _registered_ Animagi, and some of the books I've read have mentioned unregistered ones. Still, we're going to need to find him another way. I have an idea, though."

Harry turned to her, waiting expectantly. He felt completely useless, but perhaps Hermione would feel better if she had an audience to appreciate her brilliance.

"One thing is for sure," Hermione said, her eyes flashing. "Pettigrew must be a wizard, and if he can turn into a rat he must be skilled. That means he studied magic, and there's only one place I can think of around here that teaches magic…"

Harry remembered not to shout this time. "Hogwarts!"

"That's right," Hermione said with satisfaction. "If he went to Hogwarts, or any of the other Wizarding schools for that matter, we can find a record of him. Come on – I know where the old yearbooks are kept!"

She led Harry through the maze of shelves and old books, until at last they came to the records of Hogwarts alumni. "Can you do that spell again?" Harry asked hopefully, looking with distaste at the shelf piled high with yearbooks.

"Of course," Hermione said briskly. "_Vox Reperio: Pettigrew_." In the middle of the stack, seven books began to glow green.

Hermione grinned like a cat after spotting a mouse. "Got you."

She took one of the yearbooks at random, and flipped until she found the specific page that was glowing. "Here he is!" she announced, pointing at a picture of a young student. "Peter Pettigrew. Wow… bit of a runty fellow, isn't he?"

Harry had to agree. Looking at the faded picture of the scrawny boy, who kept twitching periodically, it made sense that he would transform into a rat.

"So we've found him," Harry said. Now that his suspicions were confirmed, he only felt worse about what they would have to tell Ron. But even after removing any doubt that Scabbers was this Pettigrew fellow, the mystery had only deepened. Why was he pretending to be a rat, and why wouldn't he want to be found? Harry looked to Hermione and spread his hands wide. "So what's next?"

"We look for paper trails from his time at Hogwarts," Hermione said. "Some clue about him, maybe who his friends were. Once we find everything, we can start asking teachers. Professor McGonagall was probably teaching when Pettigrew was here, and Professor Dumbledore, too."

They split up, after Hermione made sure that Harry could use the _Vox Reperio _spell successfully to search for Peter's name. It was only half an hour later that Hermione called Harry over to the table where she was working. Her voice was curiously subdued, and as Harry approached she watched him nervously.

"What is it?" he asked.

Hermione showed him a stack of scrolls almost covered by lists of names and dates written in a sloppy, looping script. "I found him in a list of past detentions," she said, her voice even quieter than usual. "I figured that most students would get at least one detention in seven years here, and I was right…"

Harry couldn't understand why she seemed so hesitant. "Yeah? Hermione, that's great… isn't it?"

"Maybe," Hermione said. "Most of his detentions… well, look for yourself."

She pushed one long roll of parchment toward him. Her word-finding spell was still activated, and the many glowing repetitions of "Pettigrew" showed that this man had gotten quite a few detentions in his time. Then Harry looked at the names around Pettigrew's, and his heart almost stopped with shock.

Almost every single time Pettigrew's name appeared, it was next to one that Harry recognized almost as well as his own: James Potter.

"That's…" Harry breathed, too astonished to continue.

"Your father," Hermione finished softly. "There's two other names that show up as well – Sirius Black and Remus Lupin. Almost every time one of them shows up in detention, the other three are there, too."

Harry's head was whirling. "So… does that mean this Peter Pettigrew and my dad were friends?"

"It looks like it," Hermione said.

"Then why…" Harry's head was starting to hurt. "Why wouldn't this Peter have revealed himself when he found out who I was?"

Hermione could only shake her head. "I don't know, Harry."

"Well, I'm sure as hell going to find out." Harry looked down again at the old detention records, confirming once again what his eyes told him to be true.

Hermione was looking just as curious and confused as he felt. "Are you going to ask Professor Dumbledore?"

"Not yet," Harry replied. "I feel like there's some big mystery going on here, and even though I trust Professor Dumbledore, I don't think he'd tell me about Pettigrew if he thought it wasn't something I should know. There's someone else I want to ask – he saw my dad a lot at school. He's also a lot more likely to give away information than Dumbledore." He grinned at Hermione, reassuring her that the shocking news hadn't managed to upset him. "Fancy a trip down to Hagrid's cottage, Hermione?"

oOoOo

Harry felt more than a little guilty about visiting Hagrid. After all, he hadn't seen him except occasionally at mealtimes all year. His schedule was much busier because of Sarutobi's training, but that was no excuse. Hagrid was not only Harry's first friend in the Wizarding World, but Harry's first friend, period. And now he was visiting Hagrid, not to catch up with his friend, but to get information from him. It made him feel ashamed, even though he was honestly looking forward to the chance to chat with Hagrid, as well.

He and Hermione left the castle during the afternoon, when Ron was busy searching the dungeons for Scabbers. They dressed warmly and headed down the road to Hagrid's cottage, enjoying the sharp, cold winter air against their faces. A merry trail of smoke was rising from Hagrid's chimney, and the man himself was splitting logs for firewood with an axe that looked large enough to be a tree itself.

""Arry!" Hagrid boomed when he saw them, "'Ermione! Didna think I'd be sein' yeh anytime soon."

Harry flushed with shame. "Sorry, Hagrid," he said contritely.

"Ah, go on, I was jes' havin' yeh on," Hagrid laughed. "The Headmaster tol' me all abou' yer trainin' – I know the two o' yeh have been righ' busy. I'm just glad yeh came!"

"We are too, Hagrid," Hermione said with real pleasure. "It's been too long."

He ushered them inside and poured them steaming mugs of tea. Harry steered clear of the treacle fudge, figuring that he would need his mouth for talking, and if he tried any of Hagrid's favorite dessert his teeth would be cemented together for hours.

They chatted for an hour that seemed no more than minutes, as Hagrid bombarded them with questions about their training, and how the rest of their year was going. Hagrid seemed to have a lot of respect for Professor Sarutobi.

"Has a way with dangerous beasts, an' no mistake," the Groundskeeper said. "Went inter the Forest with me a few weeks back, an' he stood toe-to-toe with some right nasty beasties."

Hagrid went on to say that he might ask Professor Sarutobi to go on another trip into the Forbidden Forest with him in the near future. "Yeh can never be too safe," he declared, "an' things've been a little… off, lately. The centaurs are worried, an' some o' the darker creatures seem teh be gettin' restless."

Harry told him he was sure that nothing in the Forest could faze Professor Sarutobi. Then he hesitated, wanting to bring the conversation around to Peter Pettigrew, but not sure how. Hermione solved the dilemma for him.

"Hagrid," she said, "we found something really interesting the other day. Harry wanted to research his father a little over Christmas break, and asked me to help. We looked at old detention records, and found three names that pop up next to his dad's all the time. We were wondering if you could tell us more about them."

Hagrid was beginning to look alarmed. "Like who?" he said roughly.

"Peter Pettigrew, for one," Harry answered. "And Remus Lupin and Sirius Black." Hagrid visibly flinched at the last name.

"I don't know what yeh're talking abou'," Hagrid said firmly, but Harry knew instantly that he was lying. He had acted the exact same way last year, when Harry asked about the Sorcerer's Stone.

"Hagrid," Harry pleaded, putting his cup of tea down on the table, "please! It's obvious you know something!"

Hagrid shook his head back and forth. Harry decided to push harder.

"Look, Hagrid, we already know their names. We're going to keep looking. If Professor Dumbledore won't tell us we'll check old editions of the Daily Prophet; we'll send letters to every witch and wizard we know. It's really, _really_ important that we find out who they were!"

Harry realized a second later that he had contradicted Hermione's cover story about being curious about his father, but Hagrid didn't seem to catch the slip. Instead he was thinking hard, a thunderous frown on his face. He regarded Harry gravely, and then nodded to himself.

"Well, I guess now yeh've found the names, there's no keeping yeh from the truth," he said at last. "Dumbledore will be right mad at me fer spillin', but I reckon yeh've got a right teh know. It's personal, though – is it all right if Hermione hears?"

Harry assured him that whatever Hagrid was about to say, he could say to Hermione as well. So Hagrid began talking, and didn't stop until their tea was cold on the table. He told Harry about his father's friends, Peter, Sirius, and Remus. He told them how Sirius was chosen to become Harry's godfather. He told them about the start of the war, and the decision to make Sirius the Potter's Secret-Keeper. Tears were rolling down Hagrid's eyes at this point, and he had to stop periodically to blow his nose with an enormous handkerchief. But he managed to make it through the rest, telling the two shocked Gryffindors how Sirius had betrayed the Potters to the Dark Lord, and how he had murdered Peter and a dozen Muggles in cold blood.

"The most they ever found of him was a finger," Hagrid sobbed brokenly. "An' I met Sirius that night, after he… after he betrayed yer parents. He even lent me his motorbike, not hours before the Aurors came!"

Harry couldn't have spoken if he wanted to, so it was up to Hermione to ask the relevant question. "Where is he now?"

"In Azkaban," Hagrid choked out, "the wizard prison. His sentence is for life."

Harry felt very strange, as if he didn't fully inhabit his body. He noticed that the tips of his fingers were shaking ever so slightly. He knew there was something wrong with Hagrid's story, but it took him a second to figure out what it was – Pettigrew! Pettigrew was still alive…

Harry didn't know what to make of it. He had no clue where to start separating what was true from what was false. It was thanks to Hermione that he pulled himself together. Her gentle hand on his shoulder was what brought him back to the present, and her kind eyes were what kept him from breaking down right there in Hagrid's cottage.

"Hagrid, I…" Harry said, his voice cracking, "…thanks for telling me. I… I needed to know."

Hagrid nodded, still sobbing like a stormcloud. "Yeh talk to the Headmaster, if yeh need," he said. "I don' expect yeh to hear sommat like that an' not need to sort through yer emotions a bit."

He nodded at Hermione, who was motioning at Harry to get up from the table. "Yeh look after him, all right, Hermione? I don't doubt he needs a friend right now."

Harry let Hermione lead him out of the cottage. The cold air stung his face and helped distance him from the thoughts running in circles in his mind. They stayed outside for quite some time, walking to the edge of the frozen lake and watching the sun reflect off the ice in brilliant patterns of light.

After a while, Hermione turned to Harry. "Want to talk about it?"

Harry nodded silently after a long moment. "I don't know what to believe," he said at last. "Hagrid says Sirius betrayed my parents – my own Godfather! But the Map said Pettigrew is still alive!"

Hermione seemed to sense that Harry didn't want anyone's pity, nor did he want to wallow in a past he couldn't change. What he wanted was the truth, and Hermione was determined to help him find it.

"We have to approach this carefully," she said, using the brisk tone that meant she was all business. It cheered Harry up as nothing else could have. "First, we know that Scabbers is Pettigrew, and Pettigrew is alive. The Map wasn't wrong, otherwise Scabbers wouldn't have run away when you said his old name. It's the only explanation I can think of – he has to be alive. That said, the next thing we have to figure out is why Hagrid seems to think Sirius killed Pettigrew. The evidence must have been overwhelming if Sirius was arrested and put in Azkaban. Everyone must have thought that he did it."

One of the details Hagrid mentioned came floating up in Harry's memory. "Hagrid said… he said the most they ever found of Pettigrew was his _finger_." He stood up suddenly, things clicking into place. "Hermione, Scabbers is missing a toe on his front paw!"

Hermione gasped. "You're right!"

Harry felt like he had discovered something momentous, but he had no idea where to go next. "But what does that _mean?_"

Hermione held up two fingers, her eyes narrowing as they only did when she was deep in concentration. "It means one of two things: first, Sirius' curse missed, and Pettigrew survived. Then he transformed into a rat and went into hiding. But Hagrid said Sirius used a blasting curse that also killed twelve Muggles. What are the odds that a blasting curse of that size would obliterate twelve people, and yet only slice off Pettigrew's finger? It seems highly unlikely."

Harry thought so, too. "So then the second option…"

Hermione looked horrified at what she was about to say, but continued nevertheless. "The other option is that Pettigrew framed his own death. He cut off his own finger, killed the Muggles, and escaped as a rat. That would make more sense, because if Peter was innocent why wouldn't he come forward after Voldemort died and Sirius was arrested? He just waited, for eleven whole years, even though he could have been greeted as a hero."

"That's right," Harry agreed, thinking it through. "He didn't want to be found. He ran away after we figured out who he was, and I don't think he's coming back. That's the action of someone who's guilty. But if Sirius didn't kill Pettigrew-"

Hermione finished his thought. "-then he couldn't have betrayed your parents!"

"I don't know," Harry said after a second. "I mean, I'd rather it was Peter than Sirius, because my dad trusted Sirius enough to make him my godfather. But if Peter served Voldemort all those years, why didn't he do anything when I made friends with Ron? Wouldn't one of Voldemort's servants have tried to kill me or something?"

"Maybe," Hermione allowed, "but once Voldemort disappeared, didn't most of his servants claim they had been acting under the Imperius Curse? Once he was defeated, they all went on with their lives. Why would Pettigrew risk blowing his cover to avenge the Dark Lord if he only served him out of fear in the first place?"

Harry was growing more and more convinced that Peter Pettigrew was guilty of _something_, even if it wasn't necessarily betraying his parents to Voldemort. "We don't have proof of anything," Harry pointed out, "but I know how we can find out. We have to bring this to Dumbledore."

oOoOo

Once they decided on the plan, they wasted no time in carrying it out. Later that night, after eating a tense dinner with Ron in which their unspoken secrets weighed heavily on their minds, the two of them went to visit the Headmaster in his office.

The kindly Professor took one look at them and knew they had something important to tell him. He listened carefully as Harry poured out the entire story, his eyes growing wider and wider behind his half-moon glasses.

When Harry was done, Professor Dumbledore looked more shocked than they'd ever seen him. "So Pettigrew is alive…" he breathed.

Hermione watched him closely. "We were wondering if that news changed your mind about anything," she said hesitantly, "like Sirius being guilty… or anything like that."

Dumbledore regarded them both over his spectacles, looking very old and sad. "I'm afraid it does change my mind," he said at last. "About a lot of things. It clears up many of my doubts about that night. I never wanted to believe Sirius was guilty, but the evidence seemed so clear, and the Aurors snapped his wand so quickly we could never check to see if he'd actually performed the curse…"

Harry broke in quickly. "Then was it Pettigrew…"

"Who betrayed your parents?" Dumbledore nodded slowly. "I believe it must have been. I think, although I will have to check with Sirius to make sure, that Sirius decided to make a last-minute switch regarding who was to be James and Lily's Secret-Keeper. He and James had suspected that poor Remus might be spying for Voldemort – if that was the case, then secretly changing the Secret-Keeper would have been Sirius' way of trying to throw Remus off the scent. How tragic – it was Peter who was the spy the whole time!"

Dumbledore's voice was beginning to shake with an emotion that Harry easily recognized as repressed anger. He felt exactly the same way. If Pettigrew appeared before him right that second, Harry would have felt no compunctions about trying one of the more deadly curses that Sarutobi had taught him the other day. But there was something more important than daydreams of vengeance, and that was the innocent man staying in Azkaban for a crime he didn't commit.

"Can you get Sirius out of Azkaban?" he asked Dumbledore.

The old man gave a great sigh. "That is exactly where my mind went as well, Harry. I will not lie to you – getting Sirius out is going to be extremely difficult. The Ministry is uncooperative at the best of times, and they will not want to admit that they made a mistake all those years ago. There is the added difficulty that Peter Pettigrew has escaped. If we had him in custody, the truth would be easy to ascertain."

"That's why he scarpered," Harry said with deep bitterness. "He knew we'd find out the truth. He was saving his hide."

"I fear you are correct, Harry," Dumbledore said sadly. "But I promise you this: I will do my utmost to bring Sirius safely out of that horrible place. You may depend upon that."

"Thank you, Professor," Harry said, and Hermione echoed his thanks. It was almost too much for him to wrap his mind around – not only that he had a godfather, but that it was up to them to clear his godfather's name. It was almost too strange to accept, but Harry knew that it was true.

"I will start working to free Sirius at once," Dumbledore promised. "The most important thing is finding Pettigrew, so I'll spread the word to everyone I know – and I know quite a few people. I'll also bring all the weight I have to bear on the Ministry, and try to get them to reopen Sirius' case. However, without Pettigrew I don't know how much I'll be able to do. As I said before, the Ministry is not fond of admitting that it is wrong."

"I know you'll do everything you can," Harry said, and it was true. If anyone could free Sirius, it would be Dumbledore. "You'll tell me if anything comes up, right?"

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled at him merrily. "Of course I will. And I'll visit Sirius as soon as may be – they don't let students visit Azkaban, for obvious reasons, but I will make sure to tell him that you know he is innocent. I believe it will be of great comfort to him to know that, while I work on his behalf at the Ministry."

When they left Dumbledore's office, Hermione brought up the difficult issue of how they would tell Ron. "He has to know," she said firmly.

"Of course," Harry agreed. "Now that Dumbledore has confirmed it, we need to tell him about Pettigrew."

They broached the subject after getting back to the Gryffindor Tower. Ron resisted strongly, bringing up all of the reasons why Scabbers couldn't be Pettigrew. Harry found that he couldn't remain calm while trying to convince Ron – thinking about the rat made him almost physically sick. The man who had betrayed his parents had been right next to him for over a year!

Hermione, who was extremely perceptive, realized that if they went on any longer, either Ron or Harry would lose it.

"Come to the Headmaster's office with me," she urged Ron, tugging on his arm. "Can't you see how upset Harry is? We don't want this to be true any more than you do. Come on – Dumbledore will clear everything up."

Harry nodded to her gratefully. He knew Ron would eventually come to accept it, and when he did he would feel absolutely terrible about keeping Pettigrew safe all those years. Harry would have to reassure him repeatedly that it was not his fault. Pettigrew had fooled so many people over the years that Harry knew it would be the height of stupidity to blame Ron for something he had no control over.

Once Ron and Hermione left, Harry was left alone in the Tower. Ron had handed over the Marauders' Map before leaving, and Harry stared curiously at the blank parchment. It was such a seemingly innocent thing, but without it he would never have discovered that Pettigrew was still alive. He wondered who had made that Map, so he could thank them for clearing his godfather's name.

Harry thought about returning the Map to the twins, now that Ron would no longer need it to search for Scabbers. Then Harry started thinking – was returning the Map such a good idea? Peter Pettigrew had managed to evade Hogwarts' security easily, and if it hadn't been for the Map he might never have been discovered. Just thinking about what could have happened made Harry shiver.

If Voldemort had ever returned, Pettigrew would have been positioned perfectly to kill Harry. The fact that he was so vulnerable was truly frightening.

The Marauders' Map was more than just a pranking aid, Harry realized with sudden clarity. It should be used to keep students safe. It was better off in Dumbledore's hands than the twins'.

Harry stood up with renewed purpose, and went in search of Fred and George. They were holed up in their dorm room, and when he called they came down the stairs to join him in the common room. Harry immediately launched into his story, knowing that if he hesitated it might be too hard to tell them everything. He started with what had happened after the Polyjuice Potion, and didn't stop until he told them everything he'd learned from Hagrid and Professor Dumbledore.

"It's thanks to you two that I found this out," he finished, meeting the twins' shell-shocked eyes. "Without the Map, I would never have found out that my godfather is innocent, and your brother would still have a murderer for a pet." Fred and George paled visibly.

Harry felt awful about what he was about to ask them, but he knew it was the right thing to do.

"That's why I wanted to ask you… to turn the Map over to Dumbledore." He dropped his gaze to his shoes, fearing that they would feel betrayed. "It's just- it's such a powerful item, and Dumbledore might be able to use it to make the castle better protected-"

George cut him off suddenly. "Say no more, Harry my friend. We understand perfectly."

Harry looked at them in surprise. The twins were wearing the most serious expressions he'd ever seen on their faces.

"Listen, Harry," Fred began, "we know why you're asking this, and we're with you 100%."

George nodded. "Don't you think we feel terrible about our family living with Pettigrew all those years? We would give it up in a second if it meant bringing him to justice. And if Pettigrew can sneak into Hogwarts-"

"-other people might try it too," Fred finished. "We'll give the Marauders' Map to Dumbledore, and ask him to use it to keep the school safe. It's the right thing to do."

A wave of relief swept through Harry. "Thank you for understanding! Fred, George, I'm so sorry to ask you to do this-"

Fred waved a hand nonchalantly. "Not at all. Things were getting a little too easy with the Marauders' Map. Resting on our laurels, you know. It'll be a wrench saying good-bye to the Marauders, but I reckon it's time we struck out on our own. What d'you say, George?"

"I reckon that's about right," George said, standing a little straighter. "We have stood on the shoulders of giants, but now the Weasley twins must stand alone."

They clasped hands, seeming to forget that Harry was even there.

"Right then," Harry said, feeling awkward. "I'll just… go, then. Thanks again!"

"No problem, Harry," Fred said finally, turning to give him a mock salute. "We'll say our final goodbyes to the Marauders, and then deliver the Map to Dumbledore with our compliments."

oOoOo

After Dumbledore answered all of Ron's questions concerning Scabbers, the redhead reacted just as Harry feared he would. In addition to hating Pettigrew with a passion (a reaction Harry could understand), he also felt tremendously guilty. He seemed to think it was his fault for not seeing through Pettigrew's disguise, and for letting him escape the castle grounds.

"That's just mental!" Harry had said, in no mood to put up with Ron's misplaced guilt. "He tricked everyone including Dumbledore, and there was nothing we could have done. We're just going to find him and make sure that he pays for what he did."

Harry was not about to let his best friend feel guilty over this. "Besides," he added, "now that Dumbledore has the Marauders' Map, nothing like this will ever happen again!"

Harry – and the whole school, for that matter – soon found out exactly what Professor Dumbledore planned to do with the Marauders' Map. At the end of Christmas break, Dumbledore welcomed all of the students back with the customary feast in the Great Hall. Everyone gorged themselves, glad to be reunited with their friends and hoping to put off thinking about classes for as long as they could.

When Dumbledore stood up to address the school, he was looking uncharacteristically serious.

"I am glad to see you've all returned safely," Dumbledore announced, his voice magically amplified, "but I will not be able to send you off with my customary 'few words.' I have news for all of you that requires me to be more long-winded than usual."

Heads popped up along all four tables, as students put aside their dessert to listen with rapt attention.

"I was recently given a very powerful magical artifact," Dumbledore went on. "It is a map of Hogwarts, enchanted to show the precise location of everyone inside the castle and on the grounds. Needless to say, the potential for harm would be great if this map were to fall into the wrong hands. However, its potential for good is just as great. I have decided to incorporate this map into a new security system at Hogwarts."

Dumbledore paused, waiting for the murmurs to die down before continuing.

"Let me first make it clear that in its new form, this map will NOT show the location of every student. Such a power in any hands, even mine, is simply too great. Hogwarts is not a police state, and shall never become one on my watch. You are all entitled to your privacy, and as such the new security system will remain ignorant of your movements in and around the castle. I would like to take this opportunity to apologize to Mr. Filch, who wants me to state for the record that he strenuously opposed this decision." He nodded to the Caretaker, who was looking broken-hearted.

"I have therefore changed the map so that no student or teacher will ever show up there. If you are authorized to be here, then you will keep your privacy. However, if someone appears on the grounds who is not authorized, the map will track their movements and trigger an alarm. The only people, I repeat, the _only_ people, who will show up on the map are those who have no right to be here. In the future, each new group of first-years will be registered with the map, so that the security system knows to let them in."

Dumbledore looked around, gauging the reactions in students' faces. "This may make it difficult for people to visit Hogwarts. However, I am sending out a message to all of your parents and guardians by owl, telling them about the new security measures. If anyone needs to visit Hogwarts, whether to visit a sick child in the Hospital Wing, attend a Quidditch match, or anything of that sort, they must first pick up a Visitor's Pass in Hogsmeade. I have asked my brother Aberforth to give out these passes, as he is someone I trust with my life. He agreed to help because it is in the best interest of the safety of you students…" Dumbledore coughed delicately, "and also because having visitors come to Hogwarts through him might boost his sales. Anyway, that is all I have to say regarding the new security system, except for this-"

He broke off, his grave expression growing even more serious. "This new security system does not mean that the school is in immediate danger. It is simply a preventative measure that I wish we could have taken long ago. From this point on, infiltrating Hogwarts by means of Disillusionment Charms, Invisibility Cloaks, Polyjuice Potion, Bodily Transfiguration or even Animagi will be impossible. It is my hope that this security system will never be put to the test, but I refuse to take chances when it comes to the safety of students. Thank you for your attention, and please enjoy the rest of the Feast!"

As soon as the Headmaster sat back down, the whispering began. But then, suddenly, the Headmaster stood back up, a wicked twinkle in his eyes.

"I almost forgot," he said, silence falling instantly. "I have yet to tell you who is responsible for this addition to our security. I would like to award fifty House points to Gryffindor, as a way of thanking Fred and George Weasley. Their dedication to the safety of their fellow students is an example to us all, and serves as a lesson to those who think they are merely nefarious pranksters."

He bowed his head deeply in the direction of the Weasley twins, whose mouths were open so wide that a Quaffle could have flown in.

As one, the twins turned to Harry, expressions of despair on their faces. "This is your fault, Harry!" George cried. "Our reputation is ruined!"

oOoOo

_Dear Sirius,_

_Professor Dumbledore told me that you can receive mail in Azkaban, so even though I'm not allowed to visit you I thought I should write. I know that it doesn't do you much good, but I just wanted to say that I know you're innocent. Dumbledore knows it too, and he's going to do everything he can to get you out of Azkaban soon._

_I know we don't really know each other, but I learned from Hagrid that you're my godfather. I was so glad to find out that one of my parents' close friends was still alive. Once you get out of Azkaban, would you be willing to meet with me? I'd really like the chance to get to know you._

_My friend Hermione suggested that I tell you a little about my life – I wasn't sure if you'd be interested, but I guess if not you can just skip this part. I grew up with my mother's sister and her family, and that's where I live during the summers. They're not so fond of magic, but they let me go to Hogwarts so it's all right. I found some amazing friends last year. Their names are Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger, and I don't know what I'd do without them. We've been in some tight spots, and they've supported me every step of the way. I'm loving Hogwarts so far, especially Quidditch. Professor McGonagall put me on the Gryffindor team last year, as a Seeker. I know my dad was on the team - did you play as well? Quidditch is probably what I love best about Hogwarts, if you don't count my friends._

_Anyway, I feel kind of strange writing so much about myself, so I'll stop here. If you can write back, would you tell me more about yourself? Of course, once Dumbledore gets you out we'll have more time. Stay strong! He'll definitely help you, and the world will know that you're innocent of everything._

_I can't wait to see you!_

_Your godson,_

_Harry_

In his cell in the island fortress of Azkaban, Sirius Black folded Harry's letter carefully. He tucked it into his ripped and tattered prisoner's uniform, taking as much care as if it were the most precious thing in the world – which indeed it was, to him. When the letter was safely stowed away, he let the tears flow. He cried as he hadn't since he learned of James and Lily's deaths.

From outside the cell came a rustling sound, as a Dementor glided closer to investigate his sobbing. Sirius wiped at his eyes with the back of one grimy hand, huddling tighter to ward off the mind-numbing chill.

"Come to feast on my grief?" Sirius asked. His voice was hoarse and cracked from disuse. The Dementor fell back a step, surprised by the laugh that came from Sirius' throat. Though it sounded more like a croak, Sirius' laugh was full of heartfelt joy. "You're out of luck, soul-sucker. I'm only crying because I'm happy. If I had a wand right now, I could make a Patronus so powerful it would send you and all your friends back to the devil that spawned you."

The Dementor glided away, seeming to retreat before the sound of his laughter. "Just wait, Harry," Sirius whispered, sliding one hand under his uniform to clutch his letter tightly. "I'm coming."


	15. Jailbreak

**A/N: **I've made two small changes to previous chapters, thanks to a couple of sharp-eyed reviewers. In Chapter 13 I got James Potter's Quidditch position wrong – he was a Chaser, not a Seeker. And I call myself a Harry Potter fan – embarrassing! The second slip-up isn't quite as bad – in the Dueling Club scene with Harry and Malfoy, I decided to make Harry whisper his spell instead of shout it. As **Shadow Owner **astutely pointed out, it makes more sense for Harry not to advertise his new spells, especially when some students might try one out on their own and hurt themselves or others. I wonder if, in canon, anyone tried out Serpensortia and got a nasty surprise when they couldn't control the snake… that would kind of suck.

As for this chapter, I hope the ninja action satisfies all of the Sarutobi fans out there (you know who you are, and I'm right there with you). I had a blast writing it, and I hope it does justice to my vision of how completely cool the Sandaime is. There will be three – maybe four – more chapters to bring the events of Year Two to a close, and then it's on to bigger and better things. I'm beyond pumped to get into Year Three – I'm planning to introduce a few new characters, and show a new level of cunning from Orochimaru.

**Disclaimer: **I own neither Harry Potter nor Naruto

**Chapter 14: Jailbreak**

Azkaban rarely had visitors, for obvious reasons. The crowd of Dementors generally sufficed to keep even relatives of prisoners far away. However, there was one room in the prison compound in which those brave enough to request a visit could meet with an inmate. Such requests were uncommon, and even more uncommon was for the Ministry to accept those requests. But Albus Dumbledore was rather a special case, and when he asked to meet with Sirius Black the Ministry was not about to say no.

That was how the Headmaster came to be in the Visiting Room, a warded room with stone walls and no windows. There were two rickety wooden chairs and a wooden table, across which Sirius stared at Dumbledore like a man who sees a mirage in the desert. Normally there would be Aurors in the room, but Albus had requested privacy and as the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, he got what he requested. However, a crowd of Dementors hovered outside the iron door that was the only way in or out of the Visiting Room, just waiting for an excuse to subdue the dangerous convict Black.

"Sirius," Dumbledore said, "I am so sorry. If I'd have known-"

Sirius cut him off with a weary sigh. "I know, Headmaster. Let's not fight about what's past. Here's what I want to know: where's Peter?"

Albus hesitated, causing Sirius' eyes to sharpen. "So it was him," Sirius said, his voice brooking no arguments. "There's no other way you would have become convinced of my innocence. How'd you find him?"

Albus knew it would be futile to try and hide the truth from Sirius, even though he feared that once Sirius knew the whole story he would be driven to take drastic measures.

"It was actually your godson who brought Peter to my attention. It seems that Peter had become very comfortable living as a rat in the Weasley household. Thanks to some help from the Marauders' Map-" Dumbledore chuckled when he heard Sirius' sharp intake of breath. "As I say, thanks to the Map, Harry became aware that his friend's rat went by a different name."

"Merlin's Beard," Sirius breathed. "To think that Harry would find that old Map…" he trailed off, lost in memories. But a second later he was back, his eyes riveting on Dumbledore with renewed force. "Where's Peter now?" he demanded.

"He managed to escape," Albus answered gravely. "Harry said his name inadvertently, tipping him off. It wasn't until Harry came to me that he learned the truth about Peter and yourself. That was actually the first time he learned of your existence. We all thought- well, you know what we thought, and no amount of apologizing will ever make up for our mistake."

"That's not important now," Sirius said impatiently. He looked over his shoulder uncomfortably, then back to Albus. "Can they hear us?" he demanded.

Albus shook his head. "No; we are secure. Why?"

Sirius grimaced and pushed a ragged lock of hair out of his eyes. "Because I don't want them hearing that I'm planning to escape. I won't leave Harry undefended while the bastard who betrayed his parents is running free."

This was exactly what Albus had feared – Sirius was preparing to do something very rash indeed. "Sirius," he implored, "please, be patient. I'm trying to get you free, and in the meantime Harry is as safe as Hogwarts can make him."

"Little good that'll do him, seeing as how Peter was hiding with his friend for all these years!" Sirius snarled. Albus didn't think that now was the time to tell Sirius about the new Marauders' Map-centered security system, so he only nodded in acknowledgement of Sirius' point.

"Look, Headmaster, you and I both know that the Ministry will never let me out of here. They'd have to admit they got the wrong guy. Unless you had Peter and interrogated him with Veritaserum, there's no way in hell you could get me free. That makes my choice very simple: stay in here and rot, or escape and help protect Harry. That's not a choice I have to think about."

Albus knew that Sirius was most likely correct about the Ministry. Fudge was a weak, vain man, and a poor excuse for a Minister. He was almost entirely in Lucius Malfoy's pocket, and he would resist releasing Sirius if only because Albus was asking. But to force Sirius to live as an outlaw… it was so cruel. But then, could it possibly be worse than spending a single day in Azkaban?

"I'm going to do it, no matter what you say," Sirius declared stolidly. "You know I respect you, Headmaster, but Harry's my godson. He believes I'm innocent, and that's all that I need. I don't care if the entire world thinks I killed Lily and James, not if Harry knows I'm innocent and I'm there to protect him."

That settled it. If Albus couldn't get Sirius to abandon his plans for escape, he could at least do his best to make sure they went off without a hitch.

"I won't try to argue you out of it," he said at last. "All I ask is that you give me three days before you try anything. Just three days. If you're not free by then, do whatever you wish. I won't try to stop you."

Sirius looked confused. "Three days? Headmaster, that's not enough even to formally petition for them to reopen my case! What are you going to do in three days?"

Albus spoke with a hint of steel in his voice. "I'm going to get you out of here."

Silence hung between them for a moment, until Sirius grinned widely. "Headmaster, are you planning to pull a prank on the Ministry?"

"I don't know what you mean," Albus replied absently, getting up to leave. "After I meet with Fudge later today, I'm going straight back to Hogwarts, and I'm not leaving until at least next week. And that's exactly what the Aurors will find out if they ask me. Good day, Sirius."

He swept his hat off to the man as he passed, and turned just before opening the door. Sirius was sitting at the table, eyeing him with a kind of stunned appreciation. "Three days," Albus reminded him, and winked. "Trust me." Then he left the room, brushing the waiting Dementors aside as if they were particularly pesky gnats.

oOoOo

Minister of Magic Cornelius Fudge was a small man with a small mind. The only thing large about him was his ambition, or perhaps his over-inflated opinion of himself. Dumbledore knew that going into his office, yet he was still taken aback by the man's obstinacy. No matter how many times Dumbledore explained things to him, Fudge simply refused to believe him.

"You're telling me," the Minister said skeptically, leaning back in the plushy armchair behind his desk, "that you want me to reopen the case on Sirius Black because you suspect a boy's rat of being a dead man?"

Dumbledore sighed wearily. Cornelius was reacting exactly as he'd feared he would. Just the thought of bringing Black back up before the courts made him blanch, and he was dismissing everything about Peter Pettigrew out of hand.

"I've told you, the rat in question has been alive for over eleven years, and is missing a toe on its front paw. All they found of Pettigrew was a _finger_, Cornelius! You must admit it's more than a coincidence."

"I'll admit nothing of the kind," Fudge snapped, nettled. "The case on Sirius Black was closed because he's guilty. There were a dozen witnesses who saw it clear as day. Don't come to me with nonsensical tales of dead men – if you want the Ministry to take action, bring us some proof! But I know you won't find any, because this whole thing is a crock of nonsense."

"Minister, I beg you to at least hear me out. You must agree that if what I'm telling you is true, then there has been a gross miscarriage of justice, and an innocent man is suffering a terrible fate. At least re-open his case! I'll find Peter Pettigrew, and the truth will come out."

Fudge shook his head obstinately, his bowler hat dipping a little over his eyes. "I'll not hear another word of this, Headmaster! I don't know what you're playing at, but it seems as if you're trying to stir up trouble in my Ministry! I won't hear of it."

"Cornelius, this has nothing to do with you or me. I've told you before and I'll tell you as many times as you want to hear it – I'm not interested in your job. I love teaching, and I have no interest in meddling with the affairs of the Ministry. So please, suspend your suspicion of me long enough to give Sirius a fair shot!"

In hind sight, Albus would admit that he might have been unwise to bring up Fudge's crippling insecurity. The Minister of Magic knew that it could easily have been Albus wearing his robes, and reminding him of that, even though he was denying it, served only to make the man more determined to resist listening to reason. "Proof, Albus! I won't do anything without proof, and I'd appreciate if you stopped trying to cast this Ministry in an unfavorable light."

"Oh, Cornelius," Albus said sadly, shaking his head. "You do that without my help."

Fudge purpled with rage, only gaining control of himself when he realized that he had as little chance of retaliating against Albus Dumbledore as he did of blocking out the sun.

"I will take this last opportunity to beg you to reconsider," Albus said, preparing to leave. "You have nothing to lose in freeing Sirius and everything to gain. When Sirius is found innocent, it will look terrible for the Ministry that falsely imprisoned him. If you do not act now, you may not like what happens as a result."

Fudge came to his feet, and pointed a shaking finger over his desk at Dumbledore. "Are you threatening me? I won't stand for it! There are some things even you can't get away with, Albus."

"Not threatening you, Cornelius," Albus said, taking one last look at the pompous, ignorant little man. "Merely trying to help you see the truth. But it appears you are determined to keep your eyes shut. I hope you realize your mistake before it is too late."

He doffed his wizard's hat to the Minister and left, ignoring the angry splutters that followed him out.

Albus used Floo powder to travel from the Ministry fires to his office, where Professor Sarutobi was waiting for him. The Defence Professor was smoking his pipe contentedly, but got up when Albus materialized out of the fireplace. "How'd it go?" Sarutobi asked.

Dumbledore shook his head with weary resignation. "About as well as I expected. Still, I was hoping that things wouldn't come to this."

Sarutobi, who had been briefed by Dumbledore about the situation with Sirius and the Ministry, couldn't help but smile. "You obviously don't have enough experience working with governments, or you wouldn't have even bothered trying. But because we're friends, I'll let you in on the secret of my political career."

"Oh?" Dumbledore quirked an eyebrow at the former Hokage. "What's that?"

Sarutobi's grin stretched from ear to ear. "When diplomacy fails, send ninjas."

oOoOo

Dumbledore Apparated with Sarutobi to a remote location by the shore of the North Sea. Somewhere out in those wind-tossed waves was the island housing the Wizard prison of Azkaban. Dumbledore, much to Sarutobi's confusion, took a dirty sock out of his robes and placed it on the sand.

"This is a Portkey keyed to you and Sirius," Dumbledore explained. "When you touch it, it will transport both of you directly to my office. As Sirius is one of the creators of the Marauders' Map, the new security system would not dream of labeling him an outsider. Now, there are two things you need in order to reach Sirius safely. The first is this compass."

Dumbledore gave Sarutobi a small pocket compass, which possessed a needle that pointed off towards the sea. "Azkaban is Unplottable, and possesses charms meant to mislead anyone who comes too near. However, I have devised a way around this. This compass searches out Dementors, orienting itself towards the greatest concentration of Dementors in a 100-mile radius. That means that the needle will lead you to Azkaban without fail."

Sarutobi pocketed the compass with a nod of thanks. "And the second thing?"

"A warning," Dumbledore said. "You know about Dementors, but I'm not sure if anyone can ever be fully prepared to face them. Wizards at least can cast the Patronus Charm to defend against the Dementors' oppressive powers, but you couldn't cast the spell even if you knew it. Dementors will sap your body and your mind, bringing out the worst memories you possess and making you relive them. Are you sure you can do this?"

"I'm sure," Sarutobi said. "These Dementors may be magic-resistant, but I doubt very much they are chakra-resistant. I also have many years of practice defending my mind – genjutsu is a threat for which a shinobi must always be prepared. If these creatures think to use my mind against me, I will show them the error of their ways."

"Then there is nothing more to be said. Hiruzen, you are truly noble and courageous, and if it wasn't clear to me that you are enjoying this, I would say you are selfless as well."

Hiruzen coughed, embarrassed. "Is it that obvious?" He was wearing his combat outfit, and even though it sagged in places and reminded him of his age, Sarutobi felt like a jonin again, at the height of his powers. An infiltration mission to rescue a high-value prisoner – as much as Sarutobi enjoyed teaching, this was better than grading papers any day.

Dumbledore only smiled. "I had best get back, my friend. When the Minister comes stomping in, demanding to see me and determined to find out what happened to the criminal Sirius Black, I want it to be clear that I was in my office the whole time."

"Playing Exploding Snap with me," Sarutobi laughed. "I only hope my clone doesn't get too antsy waiting for you. It could get into a lot of trouble with all the toys in your office."

Sarutobi had been very amused by the notion of an "alibi." For a shinobi, being in two places at once was practically a necessity. But in this world, if you could prove you were somewhere else when a crime had occurred, you were automatically innocent. For someone with Shadow Clones at his disposal, it was really just unfair.

"I'll see you soon," said Dumbledore, his eyes twinkling. Then he Disapparated with a faint _crack_, leaving Hiruzen alone on an empty shore.

"Time to get going," the shinobi said to himself, sliding the compass out of his inside pocket to take a quick look. Then he shrouded himself in a low-power genjutsu, one that would make him look like a swirl of mist above the waves, and ran out into the North Sea. It was good practice for his chakra control to vary the amount of chakra he channeled to suit the motion of the waves. Running on an ocean or a sea was quite different from a standing body of water like a lake or a pond.

Hiruzen used Dumbledore's compass repeatedly to steer himself in the right direction. He darted across the water with single-minded purpose, his skull-cap cutting the spray that kicked up around his head. At the speed he was going, it took less than an hour to come within range of his destination. He knew that he was getting close when he felt the tell-tale signs of a foreign spell beginning to affect his mind. This, Sarutobi knew, must be the effect of the Charm meant to mislead visitors without them even knowing they were affected. But Sarutobi was no ordinary tourist, and he had decades of practice recognizing when someone was trying to tamper with his mind.

Out of curiosity, Hiruzen performed the technique that dispelled most genjutsu. It disrupted all of one's chakra, so Hiruzen had to jump high in the air before casting, so as to avoid falling through the water when he stopped his chakra flow. The technique worked, completely eradicating the influence of the mysterious Charm.

Soon Azkaban came into view. The waves around the rocky island were larger and more violent, and the towering iron walls made the place seem a formidable fortress. All in all, it was not a very welcoming place.

Sarutobi circled the entire fortress from a wary distance, checking for weak spots. The fortress walls formed a gigantic triangle, and they extended all the way down to sea level. There was not a single break or entrance point, not even a small dock for a boat to anchor. Apparently the only way in or out was by Ministry-regulated Floo powder or by flying. The only boats that ever approached would be Muggle contraptions turned away by the Misdirection Charm.

That meant that there was no need for sentries watching the walls, and Sarutobi didn't see any. He was keeping an eye out for these flying creatures called Dementors, but there weren't any that he noticed. They were prison guards, however, so it made sense that the Dementors would stay inside the facility.

Sarutobi closed the remaining distance to the wall, and began to walk up it. It seemed far too smooth to be just natural stone, but his chakra kept him anchored all the same. _This, _Sarutobi thought with satisfaction, _is why we place such importance on tree-walking for genin. The mighty walls of Azkaban might as well be a welcome mat!_

Ever careful, Sarutobi altered his genjutsu so that any watching eyes would see nothing more than an unbroken section of the prison wall. As he ascended he thought he began to feel an increased chill, recognizing one of the signs of which Dumbledore had warned him. There were Dementors nearby, probably inside the very walls he was currently scaling.

Sarutobi reached the top of the wall, and spared a second to look out over the sea. He felt tremendously powerful from up here, the only elevated position for miles. From his perch on the highest point of the prison, Sarutobi took the opportunity to survey the grounds. It was clear that the walls took up the bulk of the space on the tiny island. In fact, what Sarutobi had taken to be walls actually formed the prison itself – the triangular structure of solid black stone housed all of the cells.

At least, Sarutobi could see no other possibility, because inside the towering walls, which were thick enough to contain several houses end-to-end, there was only a courtyard. Sarutobi could make out a few buildings, tinier than ants so far below his feet. Those buildings couldn't possibly contain all of the prisoners of Azkaban, unless they were all outfitted with space expansion charms so that their insides were larger than their outsides. But that seemed like an absurd waste when there was more than enough room inside the enormous walls to house the entire population of Konoha. Sarutobi guessed that the courtyard was specifically for the use of prison guards, or perhaps used as a reward for good behavior. But from what he'd heard about Dementor-induced depression, he doubted the prisoners engaged in any _behavior_ at all, whether good or bad.

Sarutobi didn't fancy searching the entire prison for Sirius, so he decided to venture down into the courtyard in search of someone who might be persuaded to point him in the right direction. As he descended the inner side of the wall, he noted that there didn't seem to be any Dementors here, either. Perhaps the Wizard guards didn't want to spend any more time with them than absolutely necessary.

It didn't really matter which universe you were in, Sarutobi realized. Guard duty was still guard duty – mind-numbingly boring. And for those shinobi or wizards unfortunate enough to pull late-night shifts, it could be very tiring as well. In shinobi fortresses that usually meant that there was a guardhouse of some kind, where off-duty shinobi could take naps between shifts. Azkaban had one of these as well, though it was like no guardhouse that Sarutobi had ever seen. In the middle of the courtyard, set a ways off from a group of official buildings, was a small, cozy-looking house. It seemed to be there for wizards who were off-duty, because a quick peek in the windows showed a kitchen and a room filled with cots. This was where Sarutobi could find the information he needed.

After looking around to make sure that the courtyard was deserted, Sarutobi entered the small house through the front door. Inside he found three main rooms: the kitchen, a recreation room with chessboards and a few enchanted packs of cards, and the sleeping quarters. Sarutobi cased the entire place, and found only two wizards currently in the building. Both were middle-aged men, one portly and the other beginning to go bald around the edges. They were playing a game of Wizards' chess in the recreation room. As the room had no windows, it was perfect for Sarutobi's purpose.

Sarutobi paused at the entrance, gathering his chakra for a much more detailed genjutsu than the one that was currently hiding his presence from the wizards. He pictured the details that he wished to implant in the mens' minds, and then made the hand seals to form the jutsu. He stomped one foot, causing both of them to swivel their heads just in time to fall under the influence of his technique.

They both froze, trapped by magical ropes that existed only in their minds. Their mouths were open, but they couldn't speak due to the gags that they thought were tied tightly around their heads. Sarutobi walked forward in a deliberately casual slouch, appearing to them as a monster with glowing red eyes, enshrouded by a dark cloud.

"This is very simple," Sarutobi said, his voice sounding an octave lower and utterly menacing to their ears. "One of you will tell me where the prisoner Sirius Black is being held. If you do that, I will spare both your lives. If not, I will be very disappointed. However, I believe in second chances, so I will only kill one of you. Then I will give the survivor one more chance. Understood?"

The wizards merely stared at him, robbed of their senses by fear. Sarutobi sighed. "I don't have time to waste while you search for your pitiful courage. You two are not warriors. You probably have homes, wives, and children. If you wish to see them again, tell me what I wish to know."

The man on the left, the balding one, managed a weak nod. Sarutobi pointed at him, and the imaginary gag disappeared.

"Sirius Black is in the maximum security ward," the man stammered. "It's on the top level."

"Thank you for your cooperation," Sarutobi said kindly. "If it makes you feel any better, he's innocent." Then he knocked their heads together, and let them slump unconscious over their chessboard, scattering pieces to the floor. He used a technique originally developed by Morino Ibiki, which was invaluable for infiltration and interrogation. It was a genjutsu that targeted the memory centers of the brain, wiping out everything that occurred in a recent span of time. The amount of time varied with the chakra applied, so Sarutobi only expended enough to erase the wizards' memories of the last five minutes.

Sarutobi could have tried to hide them, but he didn't want to waste any more time. He hurried back out into the courtyard, reactivating the stealth genjutsu that would allow him to walk back up the wall unnoticed. If Sirius was in one of the cells on the top level, it would be quite a chore fighting through level after level of Dementors and Aurors. The most efficient solution would be to enter through the ceiling.

So Sarutobi climbed up to the top of the wall, and picked an entrance point directly in the middle. If he was lucky, he would break through ceiling and fall into the hallway, and not into a cell with a dangerous criminal. Either option was acceptable, however, as long as he found his way into the maximum-security wing somehow.

Sarutobi had not been idle while at Hogwarts. He knew the technique for creating exploding tags, and these days he never went anywhere without a full stock of ninja tools, in case of an ambush by Orochimaru. It was the work of a moment to prepare a small circle of explosive tags on the black stone, angling them so that the explosive force would propel downward, blasting a hole through the ceiling. Sarutobi lit the explosive tags and jumped, pushing chakra through his legs so that he would clear the blast radius. The tags detonated beneath him in a burst of fire and smoke, creating a percussive blast that rang out in the air. The explosion gouged great chunks of rock out of the ceiling, which fell in a cloud of dust down into a wide corridor.

Sarutobi fell gracefully, landing nimbly on the pile of rubble his explosive tags had created. He looked around, taking in his surroundings. He had chosen his entrance point well – he was in a long, wide hallway, with cells on each side separated by iron bars. Sarutobi took in the faces of all the inmates, most of whom had barely even bothered to look up at the sound of the explosion. The effect of the Dementors must have been severe indeed, if not even the ceiling collapsing could bring these doomed men and women out of their apathy.

A second later, an alarm started ringing. Sarutobi swore loudly, but it wasn't entirely unexpected. Most prisons had ways of knowing if an enemy was trying to blast their way in. It wasn't a particularly subtle form of infiltration.

Sarutobi created two shadow clones, giving them instructions to search the top level for Sirius. He had memorized the man's face from pictures Dumbledore had shown him. As they ran, Sarutobi walked down the hallway, looking for the entrance where the guards were most likely to emerge. As he walked, he made sure to look at the faces of the prisoners he passed, memorizing every detail that he could. That would come in handy once he managed to find Sirius.

It was only seconds later that Sarutobi noticed the drop in temperature. His breath came out in a cold mist, and the air became icy against his skin. He set his jaw grimly. The Dementors were coming.

The first of the dark cloaks rounded a corner ahead, and Sarutobi realized that these creatures were more powerful than he'd anticipated. The hooded monster wasn't fooled by his genjutsu for a second, gliding directly toward him with a palpable malice. The Dementor was not alone, as over a dozen more followed close behind. Sarutobi experienced the full force of their ability.

Dumbledore had warned him about what Dementors could do. Sarutobi knew that they could pick out your worst memories and force you to relive them – what he didn't know was that none of his mental defenses were of the least use against Dementors. Not even disrupting his chakra, which worked on all genjutsu and even the Misdirection Charm surrounding Azkaban, could break their hold. The air grew ever colder as the Dementors brought Sarutobi's worst nightmares to life.

Kami only knew, the Dementors had enough memories to choose from. The horrors of Sarutobi's past often visited him in his dreams, but never as vividly as he experienced them now. He saw Orochimaru's laughing face, deep in the underground tunnels where the depraved madman conducted his twisted experiments. He saw the battlefields littered with the corpses of Konoha shinobi and civilians, mementos of the Shinobi Wars. Worst of all were the pale, blood-spattered faces of the Uchiha clan, dead eyes opening to stare at him with reproach. They damned him without speaking, wordlessly crying out that he was responsible for their deaths.

The Hokage sank to his knees, clutching at his head with nerveless fingers. Still he fought, clinging to his sanity with all of his strength. Bit by bit, he exercised his will in building up chakra at the point just below his navel. He inhaled sharply, the cold biting into his lungs like a sharp knife. Slowly, excruciatingly, he formed a hand seal for the strongest fire technique he knew. Then he exhaled, sending out a column of pure chakra infused with the essence of fire.

Sarutobi did not even know if the Dementors were made of flesh – all he could see of them were their robes, and beneath them, cavernous, gaping mouths. But whatever substance the Dementors were made of, it could not stand before his Fire Release technique.

The Dementors burned, their agonized howls drowning out the alarm that was still blaring off in the distance. All along the hallway the prisoners began to stir, the sight of the Dementors perishing giving them new life.

Just as the last of the Dementors was converted into a pile of smoldering ash, one of Sarutobi's shadow clones dispersed, giving him the location of Sirius' cell. Before sprinting back in the direction he'd come from, Sarutobi created two new Shadow Clones.

"Guard this hall," he ordered sternly, after having them Transform to look nothing like two of the inmates. He made sure that their Transformed selves gripped fake wands, so that the approaching guards would believe that there was a large-scale jailbreak in progress. "Let no one pass. Do not kill any humans, but destroy as many of those cloaked demons as you see fit. Use your chakra sparingly."

They saluted, then turned to take up defensive positions. Sarutobi raced off to where his clone had dispelled, at last coming face to face with Sirius.

The man looked almost nothing like the picture Dumbledore had shown him. His hair was matted and ragged, and he wore a beard that probably hadn't been trimmed in the last eleven years. But his eyes were more alive than any of the prisoners Sarutobi had yet seen, and he stood of his own accord as Sarutobi approached.

"Who are you?" Sirius whispered.

"A friend," replied Sarutobi. "I was told to deliver this message so you'd trust me: _three days_."

Sarutobi thought he saw Sirius mouth the word, _Dumbledore_. He bowed low. "If you're satisfied that I am a friend, may I suggest that we make our escape? From the sound of that alarm, there will be more than a few guards joining us momentarily."

Sirius could only nod, dumbfounded. Sarutobi performed the Summoning Jutsu, and his old friend and ally Enma the Monkey King appeared in a puff of smoke. "We're on a bit of a tight schedule, my friend," Sarutobi said with a smile. "Would you mind transforming so I can free this man?"

"Of course," Enma said, the old Monkey King needing no more than a second to process the situation. He disappeared in a second puff of smoke, replaced by a staff harder than diamonds. Sarutobi swung Enma's alternate form at the lock on the cell door, and whatever enchantments the wizards had used to reinforce it were no match for the staff. The lock went flying, and the cell door flung open. Sarutobi repeated the feat on the chains keeping Sirius anchored to the wall, and just like that the man was free. He stared at the broken chains on the metal bands around his wrist, an expression of awe on his face.

"No time, no time," Sarutobi said. "I mean no disrespect, but I doubt you're in any condition to do much running. Would you allow me to carry you out?"

Sirius looked at him with frank disbelief. As gaunt and haggard as he had become, he was still considerably heavier than the old man before him. Sarutobi laughed, seeing the direction of the wizard's thoughts. "I assure you, I am not as frail as I look." Sarutobi let Enma fall, the Monkey King disappearing for good before hitting the floor.

Sarutobi waited for Sirius to nod before he swept him up onto his back. The former prisoner let out a shocked grunt as he experienced a fraction of Sarutobi's deceptive strength. Hiruzen took off immediately, heading back to the giant hole in the ceiling that would be his escape route.

"I'm not sure-" Sirius said, periodically gasping for breath, "-that I want to know – how you're doing this."

Sarutobi chuckled lightly. "I had a good education."

When they were outside the fortress, Sarutobi risked a quick look down into the courtyard. He could see wizards milling around in a frenzy, giving the compound the feel of a kicked-over anthill.

"I doubt they'll get past my clones for a while, but it's better to be safe than sorry," Hiruzen said. "Let's give the fellows down there something else to worry about while we escape."

He poured a significant portion of his remaining chakra into creating four more Shadow Clones. Sarutobi was no Naruto, but when the situation demanded it he could create a sizable cohort of solid clones. These were very low-power, meant to create a diversion rather than hold off Dementors. According to his instructions, the Shadow Clones transformed into exact likenesses of four of the inmates near Sirius. He had memorized as much detail as possible, so his clones were spitting images of the prisoners.

"Let's see how these wizards deal with a riot," Hiruzen said, chuckling. He waved a hand at his four clones. "Go on, you lot! Cause some mayhem, and steer clear of the Dementors as long as you can."

These four saluted as well, and ran down the inner wall to the main courtyard. Sarutobi didn't bother cloaking them with a genjutsu, because there was no point in creating a diversion if the wizards below didn't see his clones soon.

Then Sarutobi ran in the opposite direction, exercising his near-perfect chakra control to anchor himself to the outer wall while balancing Sirius deftly on his back. Sirius gulped visibly as he saw the sea that was approaching far too fast for his comfort. He closed his eyes and buried his face in Sarutobi's neck, holding on for dear life. Sarutobi could only hope that the man wasn't prone to seasickness, otherwise the rest of this trip would get old _very_ soon.

Sarutobi checked over his shoulder many times while racing back across the water, but each time there were no pursuers in sight. It was a difficult journey for Sirius, who was repeatedly drenched by the spray kicked up in Sarutobi's passing. The Defence Professor worried about the man, who was clearly far from healthy as it was, but he guessed that Dumbledore would be able to find a safe place for Sirius to recover.

Some time before they reached the sock Portkey on the beach, Sirius had given in to his exhaustion. He slept fitfully, waking in short starts, but settled into a deeper slumber as they reached the safety of the sand. Dumbledore's sock was a welcome sight to Sarutobi, who had expended more chakra on this venture than he cared to think about.

As Sarutobi activated the Portkey by brushing his finger against it, he had room for only one thought. "I am getting far too old for this shit."

oOoOo

Three men stood in the Headmaster's Office, watching carefully over a fourth man who was fast asleep on a conjured cot, a thick quilt covering his wasted frame. "He doesn't look like much," one of the men said gruffly. He stomped his wooden leg as if to emphasize his point, and the glass eye in his left eye socket whirled alarmingly.

"Eleven years in Azkaban will do that to you, Alastor," Dumbledore said, a bit of a reproving tone in his voice. "Anyway, I appreciate you agreeing to do this. I can't keep him in the castle, as much as I would like to."

Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody only grunted. "I owe you more than I care to think about, Headmaster. And I won't deny it brings a smile into my heart to stick it to that pompous, arrogant windbag of a Minister."

Sarutobi had been very impressed when he first met Alastor. The man was clearly a professional, and his experience with fighting the Dark Arts made him a wizard to be respected in Sarutobi's eyes. Mad-Eye was a fighter, and Sarutobi had met precious few of those in his time at Hogwarts. Sarutobi agreed whole-heartedly with the man's motto of "Constant Vigilance," thinking it the most sensible philosophy he had encountered since leaving Konoha. In his turn, Mad-Eye Moody seemed to sense that Sarutobi was someone who deserved his attention. He treated him with the same gruff, yet respectful tone that he used with Dumbledore.

There was also his glass eye, which couldn't help but remind Sarutobi of Kakashi. The resemblance was slight, but it served to make him much more inclined to view the Auror as a potential friend.

Moody was not one to waste time, which he proved by immediately taking his leave. He levitated the bed containing Sirius with a few motions of his wand, leading it to the Headmaster's fireplace. He threw some Floo powder into the flames, and disappeared with the sleeping form of Harry's godfather.

Dumbledore turned to Sarutobi with a pleased smile. "That's taken care of, then. Alastor will take good care of Sirius while he recovers his strength. When he's better, I think it will even be possible to arrange a meeting between Sirius and young Mr. Potter. In this matter I'm sure it will be safe to trust to his discretion."

Sarutobi nodded. "I agree. Harry would never say anything that might get his godfather sent back to Azkaban. Let them meet, and then keep Sirius out of the way until Pettigrew is found. Sirius could even help search for him – I don't know for sure, but I get the feeling that Sirius is quite a skilled wizard. He withstood the effects of the Dementors much better than the other inmates that I observed."

"Yes," Dumbledore agreed, "Sirius was one of our brightest students, and would have gone on to great things were it not for his tragic imprisonment. I have no doubt that once he is back on his feet, he will be more than capable of tracking down Pettigrew. In fact, the only reason I asked you to… _expedite…_ his release from Azkaban is that I feared he would try to escape by himself if I left him too long. Who knows – he might even have succeeded."

Sarutobi doubted that, but he supposed that stranger things had happened. "It is fortunate that you didn't have to risk it."

As Sarutobi was turning to leave, one of the portraits on Dumbledore's wall called out, "Minister arriving by Floo, Headmaster!"

Dumbledore pushed his glasses a little higher on the bridge of his nose. "Oh dear. I suppose Cornelius has heard the news. Hiruzen, I think it would be best if you were to leave before our estimable Minister arrives."

Sarutobi nodded, though he would have enjoyed staying to hear what Albus said to the man. It was sure to be an interesting conversation, at the very least.

After Sarutobi left, Albus sat down carefully in the chair behind his desk. He folded his hands in front of him, and waited for the Minister. Cornelius' arrival was heralded by his fire turning emerald-green, followed by the man himself, bowler hat in hand.

"Cornelius," Albus said warmly, "welcome-"

The Minister cut him off with an angry snort. "Don't try to wind me up, Albus, I won't have it! I just received word from Azkaban that Sirius Black has escaped!"

"Dear me," Albus replied. "I feared something like this would happen."

"Bollocks!" the Minister snapped, fuming. "Someone broke him out! Albus, if that was you, so help me-"

Dumbledore didn't raise his voice, but he cut the Minister off mid-sentence just the same. "I would appreciate it if you would refrain from threatening me, Minister. I was in my office all day today, and any of these portraits will confirm it. I was with a Professor the entire time. I don't know who is behind this crime, but it certainly wasn't me."

The Minister struggled to keep his temper in check, gripping his bowler hat as if it was a human neck he wanted to wring. "I find it quite… _interesting_," Fudge said, spacing his words deliberately, "that the day after you try to convince me that Sirius Black is innocent, and warn me that I might not like what happens if I don't reopen his case, Black just _happens_ to get broken out of Azkaban by a wizard strong enough to evade all of the Ministry's Dementors and Aurors."

Albus looked down his nose at the Minister, examining him with the slightly disappointed air of a teacher who expected more from his student. "It is more than interesting," he said at last. "It is strange, mysterious, and even rather ironic. But if you mean to imply that you believe I am in any way involved," Dumbledore broke off and coughed disapprovingly, "then I can only repeat what you once said to me, and ask you to find _proof_. Once you have done that, I will be more than happy to continue this conversation."

Fudge was so angry that he lost control of his tongue, sputtering incoherently for fully half a minute. When he regained control, his face reddened to an alarming shade of puce, and he addressed the Headmaster in a tone of barely repressed rage.

"I see what it is you're up to, Albus! Interfering with the Ministry, gathering supporters and destabilizing our security… I won't stand by and watch you ruin what I've tried to build. I have given you far too free a hand here at Hogwarts in the past – that will change. Good day."

The Minister whirled around, stalking angrily back to the fire. He disappeared in a rush of green flame, leaving the Headmaster watching the fireplace steadily. Albus had been expecting something like this, but the extent of Cornelius' reaction was quite alarming. He was now quite determined that Albus was an enemy, which did not bode well for the future of Hogwarts.

From his portrait on the wall, former Headmaster Armando Dippet blew a loud raspberry. "Slimy little back-sliding politician. Still, he could make things quite difficult for you, Headmaster. What was that about a free hand – and changing things?"

"Hm…" Dumbledore mused. "I don't know. It was quite ominous, though, wasn't it? In any case, we have yet to see the last of meddling from the Ministry – of that I'm sure."


	16. A Helping Hand

**A/N: **Part of this chapter is borrowed directly from CoS, but I chose not to have Riddle's diary show Harry the memory of confronting Hagrid. The Horcrux is smart, and it knows that all of the students have heard about the basilisk. That means that if he shows Harry the memory, Harry would recognize that Hagrid's monster isn't a basilisk. Therefore Riddle will attempt to convince Harry about Hagrid's guilt through words alone. I just wanted to make this clear beforehand, in case any of you wondered why the Diary acts differently here than in canon.

**Disclaimer: **I own neither Harry Potter nor Naruto

**Chapter 15: A Helping Hand**

The day after Sirius escaped from Azkaban, the Daily Prophet ran a front-page article warning witches and wizards to stay alert, and contact the Ministry immediately if they should sight him. That morning the Great Hall was a scene of utter chaos, as students received copies of the Daily Prophet from the Owl Post during breakfast. The younger students were very frightened, while many of the older students were morbidly fascinated by the escaped mass murderer. The Prefects had a large job on their hands settling their charges into some semblance of order.

Later, the Heads of the four Houses addressed their students personally, reassuring them that Sirius Black posed no threat to them. They reminded the students of the new security system, which would notify the Headmaster if Black put so much as a toe on the grounds. While that was reassuring to most students, it came as a huge disappointment to one in particular, who actually wanted to see Sirius.

Harry, unlike most of his peers, had read the Daily Prophet article and experienced a profound sense of peace. His godfather was free! Somehow, and Harry strongly suspected that Dumbledore had been involved, Sirius had managed to outwit the Dementors and make his escape! The thought made Harry's heart feel lighter, but he sobered quickly when he realized that his godfather was now the most wanted man in all of Wizarding Britain. Even if he had been innocent, he was now very guilty of escaping from prison.

Hermione was especially worried, because she had done some reading on legal precedents and Azkaban proceedings. If Sirius was recaptured, Hermione told Harry fretfully, they might subject Sirius to the Dementor's Kiss! He had already escaped from Azkaban once, so the Ministry might decide he was too dangerous to keep in prison.

Harry shivered when he heard that, and prayed that wherever Sirius was, he was keeping a sharp eye out for Ministry search parties. Harry promised himself that if they caught Sirius, he would see for himself just how difficult it was to break into Azkaban. He had just got his godfather back from the jaws of death, even if he had yet to meet the man, and he wasn't going to give him up without a fight.

Every time Harry heard someone whispering about Black, he wanted to round on them and deliver a ringing tirade in the style of Mrs. Weasley. But Ron and Hermione made him think better of it – without proof, he would just make people uncomfortable. He might even bring suspicion down on himself, and it wouldn't be of any help to Sirius. The only thing to do was go on about their lives, and hope that Pettigrew would be found before the Ministry caught up to Sirius. Still, the waiting nearly drove Harry insane. He wasn't used to a problem that he couldn't confront head-on.

The plan he eventually decided on was just to wait and see what Dumbledore told him. The Headmaster had promised Harry that he would keep him updated about any developments regarding Sirius, and him escaping from Azkaban certainly qualified in Harry's mind as a _"development._" As of yet there had been no word from Dumbledore, but Harry resolved to wait patiently for at least another day. If he didn't hear anything by then, he could march into Dumbledore's Office full of righteous fury and demand that they go the Ministry and proclaim Sirius' innocence. Harry didn't think that his idea would work out too well, but that's why he was willing to give Dumbledore the extra day.

In the meantime he threw himself into training, pushing his body harder in an effort to distract himself from the mortal peril facing his godfather, the danger which he was powerless to do anything to lessen.

But Dumbledore came through, as Harry realized the Headmaster had always done for him. The second day after the jailbreak, Professor McGonagall held Harry back after Transfiguration. "The Headmaster wants to see you in his office, Mr. Potter. He didn't tell me what it was about." She shook a finger at him sternly. "Mind you behave yourself like a proper Gryffindor."

Harry nodded fervently. He could only think of one thing that would cause the Headmaster to ask to see him in private. When he was standing in front of the Headmaster's desk, he couldn't even wait for Dumbledore to speak first.

"Where's Sirius?" he blurted out. "Is he safe?"

Dumbledore sighed. "It seems everyone suspects me of complicity in this matter. First the Minister, and now you… it makes me wonder if I'm just a suspicious person. I never thought I was."

Harry fell back a step, dismayed. He had been so sure…

But the Headmaster's sly smile reassured him. "I'm just having a bit of fun, Harry. Yes, Sirius is safe."

Harry gasped in relief. He spluttered at the Headmaster that it wasn't at _all_ funny, but Albus only smiled. "I took the opportunity for a small joke, but now we must be serious." He gave Harry a level gaze. "You do realize, Harry, how irresponsible it is for me to be telling you this? The only reason I am doing so, besides my promise to keep you informed, is that if I were to keep you in the dark, I fear that you would be tempted to take matters into your own hands. In that, you are quite similar to Sirius. And the absolute last thing I need right now is for you to go haring off on a quest to protect your godfather."

Harry looked down at the ground, embarrassed. If Sirius had been out there on his own, Harry wouldn't have thought twice about leaving to find him. With the skills he'd learned from Sarutobi, perhaps he would be able to help Sirius stay out of the Ministry's reach. Dumbledore had seen through him as if he was transparent.

Albus smiled to show that he understood. "I am not faulting your loyalty, Harry. It is an admirable quality, but in this instance it could lead you into an unwise decision. Rest assured, your godfather is free, and as safe as I can make him."

Harry looked up hesitantly, wondering if he was asking too much. "Can I… can I meet him?"

"Of course! He is equally determined to meet you. The only reason he hasn't already is that he came down with a fever while… _traveling_. He's recovering nicely, and soon he'll be back on his feet. It will take much longer to build up his health to what it once was, but with time I believe he'll better than ever."

"That's great," Harry said. "So you'll let me know when I can meet him?"

"I shall," Dumbledore answered. He waved a hand at Harry imperiously. "Be off with you, callow youth. I have mysteries to ponder and new worlds to discover." As Harry was turning, he saw the Headmaster's sly wink.

Harry was ecstatic as he walked through the halls, and it was only with great difficulty that he kept himself from pumping his fist into the air and shouting triumphantly. Sirius was free, Dumbledore was protecting him, and he would soon be able to meet him! Harry didn't think anything could dampen his good mood.

However, it appeared that not everyone was as happy as Harry that afternoon. His path back to Gryffindor Tower from the Headmaster's Office took him past Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, where he found a sizable puddle of water spreading from underneath the door. He could hear hiccupping sobs from within. Harry paused, not wanting to deal with the high-strung ghost, but in the end his conscience wouldn't let him rest until he investigated.

He pushed open the door, stepping gingerly to keep water from splashing into his shoes. Moaning Myrtle was nowhere to be found, but from the water welling out of one of the stalls Harry could guess where she was hiding. Her crying stopped momentarily, and the ghost's high-pitched voice rose in anger. "Come to throw something else at me, have you?"

Harry was confused. "Why would I throw something at you, Myrtle? It's just me."

He, Ron, and Hermione had gotten to know Myrtle a little too well while brewing the Polyjuice Potion – a little bit of time with the ghost went a long way.

"Harry?" Myrtle gulped. He approached the stall carefully and opened the door. Myrtle was inside, bawling her eyes out.

"What happened?" Harry asked kindly.

"Someone tossed a book through my head!" Myrtle shrieked. "I was sitting in the U-bend, minding my own business and thinking about death, when it went straight through me. It's over there," she added, pointing to the floor below the sink. "It washed out."

"Whoever it was probably didn't mean to throw it at you," Harry offered. "If they just wanted to flush it away, they probably didn't know you were in the toilet."

"Well, isn't _that _a great excuse for being so inconsiderate," Myrtle snapped, but she seemed a little less weepy.

Harry's curiosity was piqued, and he went over to the sink to retrieve the soggy book. It had a black cover and was too small and thin to be a textbook.

"Just take it," Myrtle told him in an aggrieved tone. "I can't stand to look at it."

Harry nodded absently, his attention still focused on the book. "I'll do that, Myrtle. Feel better, all right? Filch won't be happy if he has to clean all this up." There was a date on the cover, faded but still legible. Harry opened the book to the first page, where he found a name, written in smudged, black ink: _T.M. Riddle_.

Harry pocketed the diary and went on his way, hoping to meet up with Ron and Hermione in the common room before dinner.

oOoOo

During dinner Harry showed his friends the diary, and they were equally curious as to who the owner might be. None of them had heard of a T.M. Riddle before, and a diary without anything written in it was quite a mystery. They checked through every page together in the common room, and found nothing. Hermione said that she would look through the library the next day, just as she had when they were searching for information on Pettigrew.

Harry knew that there was no hope for the diary to keep its secrets, not when Hermione was on the case. Still, there was something about the diary that made him want to keep examining it. The name _T.M. Riddle_ tugged at his mind, like a half-forgotten memory or an itch one couldn't keep from scratching. He left his friends in the common room, saying that he felt a little tired and wanted to turn in.

Harry put the diary down on the trunk at the foot of his bed. He stared at it for a while, as if he could somehow learn its secrets if he could only look at it hard enough. But then Harry noticed something extremely odd. The diary had been soaked only hours before. The water from Myrtle's toilet had drenched it completely, smudging Riddle's name almost beyond recognition.

But now, the diary appeared to be dry. And the pages, which should have been water-marked and stiff, were as fresh and clean as if they had just come off the press. Harry came to his feet in astonishment, an idea taking root in his mind. He got out his quill and a small pot of ink, and opened the diary to the first page. He dripped a bit of ink from the end of the quill onto the blank page. It stayed there for a moment, and then disappeared without a trace. Harry shook with excitement.

He wrote, "My name is Harry Potter."

The ink disappeared, and then new words began to form on the page of their own accord.

_It is nice to meet you, Harry. My name is Tom Riddle. How did you find my diary?_

"Someone tried to throw it away," Harry wrote back. His whole body was tense, almost as if he was about to go through one of Sarutobi's murderous obstacle courses. Whatever this diary was, it possessed powerful magic, and it was self-aware. Harry knew that his most important task would be determining if the diary was good or evil. There was no telling what amount of harm such a powerful artifact could accomplish if it wished.

Sarutobi's litany flashed through his mind. Size up the situation, perform a threat assessment, and deal with the threats in order of importance. Harry hadn't a clue as to what kind of threat this diary might be, but he was not going to take any chances. Until he knew differently, he would approach it as if it were extremely hostile.

_I am not surprised, _the diary told him. _There are many who would not want the secrets which I know to see the light of day. It is fortunate that I wrote them down in a more secure fashion than mere ink._

"Secrets?" Harry wrote. He was trying to probe for information as cautiously as he could – for all he knew the diary could see and hear him, and he didn't want whatever or whoever was communicating with him to know that he suspected it of anything. Sarutobi always said that information was the most important thing – if you had enough information, you could tell allies from enemies, and stay a step ahead of both. "What kind of secrets?"

_All kinds of secrets. A Chamber full of them, in fact._

Harry couldn't stifle a gasp. "The Chamber of Secrets? You know about it?"

_Of course I do. When I was at Hogwarts fifty years ago, the Chamber was opened. Many students were attacked, and one ended up dying. The culprit was expelled, but never brought to justice. And the monster went free…_

Harry thought he would press his luck, while the diary seemed to be in a sharing mood. "Who was it? Who opened the Chamber?"

_A man named Rubeus Hagrid. He raised the monster within the very walls of Hogwarts. I discovered his plot by accident, and confronted him. The monster escaped, but the teachers knew he was guilty. They snapped his wand and expelled him, and the attacks stopped. But now I understand that the Chamber has been opened again._

Harry wanted to write back immediately, saying that Hagrid couldn't have done something like that. It was only Sarutobi's lessons in controlling the spread of information that stopped him. He had no idea how the diary knew what it knew. Apparently a student from fifty years ago, the very student who caught Hagrid, had created this diary. He had only the diary's word that this was so, but it certainly made sense in some disturbing ways. Hagrid had never completed his schooling, and he had never told Harry why. There was also the matter of his umbrella – it clearly contained a wand, or part of a wand, and yet Hagrid wasn't allowed to do magic. Could it be, as the diary claimed, that he had been suspected of opening the Chamber of Secrets?

It certainly fit. But Harry had personal experience with the Wizarding World suspecting the wrong people. If Sirius could be imprisoned in Azkaban for a crime he didn't commit, then Hagrid could have had his wand snapped for a crime of which he was also innocent. Harry trusted Hagrid more than anyone except Ron, Hermione, Sarutobi, and Dumbledore. He most certainly _didn't _trust this diary, which was being very discreet about how it had been made and what its purpose was.

This was going to be a very delicate process, and Harry was determined not to mess it up. He had spooked Peter Pettigrew before by saying his name carelessly – if this diary had any secrets that it didn't want to bring into the light, Harry didn't want to scare it into silence.

"I know Hagrid," he wrote. "He's the Groundskeeper here. Are you sure he's responsible? The Headmaster seems to trust him."

_That didn't stop him from snapping Hagrid's wand and expelling him, _the diary wrote back instantly.

"I think I have to sleep on this," Harry wrote, after a long pause. "This is a lot to take in."

_That's completely understandable, _the diary wrote back to him, the words appearing almost before his own message had finished sinking into the page. _Take all the time you need, but it might be best not to tell anyone about me. Hagrid had help before, and there are many people who would not want what I know to come out into the open. You could make yourself a target._

"Thanks for the warning," Harry wrote, and then finished by sending a final, "Good night, Tom," into the diary's hidden depths. The diary's warning was one he fully intended to ignore.

_Sorry, diary, _Harry thought as he wrapped the book tightly in one of his spare robes. _But if the incident with Sirius and Pettigrew taught me anything, it's to trust Dumbledore. First thing after classes tomorrow, we'll see what he has to say about this._

Harry tucked the robe with the diary into the very bottom of his trunk, and used the strongest locking spell he knew. He also placed an alarm spell that he had learned from Sarutobi on his trunk – if anyone besides him even touched the trunk, it would give an ear-splitting shriek loud enough to raise the dead. No one was going to be seeing that diary before he had a chance to show it to Dumbledore.

oOoOo

Harry was tense and jumpy all through classes the next day. He felt like the diary was burning a hole through his robes, and he flinched every time someone so much as looked at him funny. Which, of course, meant that everyone started looking at him funny. But he made it through Potions at last, disregarding the snide comments that Snape made about looking like a constipated troll (and honestly, when had Snape ever _seen_ a constipated troll?).

"I'll see you guys later," Harry whispered to Hermione and Ron as he bolted out of the classroom. "I have to see Dumbledore about something."

They didn't have time to ask him anything further, although Ron shouted at him with annoyance that he was going to be late for training. Harry gave the gargoyle the password and ran up the moving stairs, reaching the Headmaster's Office in record time.

Dumbledore raised his eyebrows when Harry barged in. "Harry, what brings you here so soon after our last visit?"

"This, Professor," Harry said, taking the wrapped diary out of his robes. He put it down on the desk, not yet unwrapping it. "I found this diary after someone tried to flush it down a toilet in the bathroom on the third floor. It's enchanted, and it seems to be self-aware. It also made some claims about the Chamber of Secrets, so I wanted to bring it directly to you."

"The Chamber of Secrets? My my, that is curious indeed. Let us see this diary."

Harry unwrapped the diary carefully, putting his spare robes in a corner out of the way. He felt silly for being so on edge, but he couldn't help it. When Dumbledore saw the diary, lying innocently on his desk, he became very still. A shadow passed over his face, and he spoke to Harry without looking at him, his eyes riveted on the book.

"Did this diary say to whom it belonged?" he asked, his voice little more than a whisper.

"Yeah," said Harry, his own voice coming out quieter after the Headmaster's example. "Tom Riddle. Do you know who that is?"

Dumbledore let out his breath, the exhalation sounding more like a hiss. "Yes, Harry, I do. Tom Riddle is the name of a student who attended Hogwarts. That same student went on to be known by another name entirely: Lord Voldemort."

Harry and the diary reacted at the same time. Harry jumped back in surprise, his jaw dropping and his hand snapping to his wand. The diary snapped open, a terrible keening sound rising from its blank pages. It propelled itself toward the door, but Dumbledore's wand was already extended.

There was a terrible booming sound and a loud crash, and the diary was sent flying back through the air. It landed in the fire and began to smoke, the keening sound becoming a full-throated scream. Harry watched in shock, his pounding heart convinced that the danger was not yet gone. Indeed, although the fire burned strongly, the diary showed no signs of burning. The horrible scream stretched on and on, raising the hairs on the back of Harry's neck.

"That's quite enough of that." Dumbledore gestured imperiously with his wand, and the diary once again came flying through the air. With a flick of his wand, Dumbledore cleared his desk of all its previous clutter. Then he sent the diary onto the desk, grunting with the effort of imposing his will on the screaming book. As soon as the front and back cover made contact with the desk, thick leather straps materialized from out of nowhere and latched the diary tightly to the wooden surface. Harry realized with awe that he was seeing wordless Transfiguration, magic that responded to no shaping other than the Headmaster's will.

The diary fell silent, though it visibly struggled against its bonds.

When Dumbledore spoke it was with a thoughtful tone, and he addressed Harry as if he was not even paying attention to the Dark artifact still writhing under the leather straps. "I think the school owes you a great debt, Harry," he said. "With this diary before me, it seems clear now why we had such difficulty finding the Heir of Slytherin. We were looking for a person, when we should have been looking for a book."

Harry watched the diary with loathing. "You mean…"

Dumbledore nodded, advancing on the diary with slow, careful steps. "Yes. The original Heir of Slytherin must have been Tom Riddle. Persecuting Muggle-born students is perfectly in character with the boy who was to become Voldemort. And this diary explains why the Chamber only opened now – somehow, someone must have put this diary into the hands of an innocent student. An artifact of this much power can exert its will on the weak-minded, causing them to do its bidding. Some poor soul in this castle must have fallen under Riddle's sway. However, it must have taken tremendous courage and determination to throw the diary away. Tom picked the wrong target…" Dumbledore looked at Harry with a wry smile. "It is a common failing of his."

Harry wasn't about to look away from the cursed diary for a second. "Can you destroy it?"

"That is the question, isn't it?" Dumbledore said, sounding far too unconcerned for Harry's comfort. "It withstood my fire, so it seems likely that we shall have to resort to more drastic measures. I wonder…"

Dumbledore walked over to a perch set a few feet from his desk. Sitting on the top was the Sorting Hat, its tip crooked jauntily to one side. Dumbledore picked up the hat with his left hand.

Harry tried not to look skeptical, but it was difficult. Did Dumbledore think he could destroy Voldemort's diary with a _hat_?

Dumbledore reached into the hat with his other hand, pulling out a silver sword with a gleaming ruby set in the pommel. Harry's jaw dropped. Now _that_ was more like it!

Dumbledore replaced the Sorting Hat on its perch, and held the sword at arm's length. He peered at it over the bridge of his nose, narrowing one eye and examining it like a horse-buyer in a marketplace.

"This is the sword of Godric Gryffindor," he remarked, extending the sword so that Harry could get a better look. "It is an ancient and powerful object, created by Goblins. It never loses its edge, and only takes in that which makes it stronger. I showed it to your Defence Professor a while back, and he told me he was in love."

Harry grinned – Professor Sarutobi did enjoy a good weapon. He had told his students once that wands could never measure up to a well-crafted katana.

"It was actually Professor Sarutobi who suggested that we improve the sword," Dumbledore went on. "He was intrigued by the sword's ability to incorporate new substances that would make it stronger, and wished to test that power. The basilisk that he killed offered him the perfect chance – with my permission, he soaked the blade in the venom of the dead snake. Now Godric Gryffindor's sword is imbued with the deadliest poison in the world. Professor Sarutobi told me he got the idea from a blade called Kusanagi, a mighty sword of legend in his country. I wonder, if Godric Gryffindor's blade were ever to meet Kusanagi, which would prove victorious?"

Dumbledore shook his head, recalling himself to the present. "But that is neither here nor there. I think it likely that Tom's diary will find this sword considerably more difficult to resist than a fire. Harry, if you would?"

He reversed the sword, handling it surprisingly deftly, and offered the hilt to Harry. Harry was left gaping. "You want _me_ to use the sword?"

"Why not?" Dumbledore asked, grinning. "You've been training with Professor Sarutobi, haven't you? Whereas I have never used a weapon in my life. I'm sure you are more suited to the job."

For a second a shadow passed over Dumbledore's face, and an unreadable expression came into his eyes. "Who knows? Perhaps it will be good practice for the future."

Harry shrugged, and took the sword carefully. "If you say so." He had to admit, the idea of stabbing the diary that once belonged to the Dark Lord certainly appealed to him. He turned to the diary, which increased its struggles as if it sensed his approach.

Harry hefted the sword, which felt strangely comfortable in his hands. "This is for framing Hagrid," he declared, bringing the blade up high with both hands around the hilt. Then he brought it down, point-first, and stabbed the right side of the book with the sword. Ink flowed like a fountain where the blade had pierced the book, and the diary emitted another unearthly scream. Harry wrenched the sword free, bringing it up once again and aiming for the other side of the open book. "This is for killing my parents," he said, his voice tight with suppressed rage. Ink spurted once again, and the rush of black liquid covered both pages and ran over onto the covers, soaking Dumbledore's desk. The scream rose to an unbearable pitch, and then Harry dug deeper, twisting the sword viciously. At last, the scream faded away, and the diary writhed no more. It became shriveled and lifeless, its power gone.

"I can see I'll have to fix my desk," Dumbledore said lightly from behind him. Harry gave a guilty start – he hadn't realized it, but when he stabbed the diary the sword had sunk deeply into Dumbledore's desk.

"Sorry, Professor," he said contritely. He turned and offered the sword back to Dumbledore. It had been covered in ink, but now the blade shone a burnished silver.

Dumbledore waved his hand airily before accepting the sword. "Dear boy, pray don't apologize! I would stab a hundred desks if it meant thwarting Voldemort. I might even sacrifice a cabinet or two!"

Harry laughed sheepishly, the Headmaster's comic expression both reassuring him and calming him down. Dumbledore's usual flippant tone was a welcome bit of normalcy in the wake of an event that had left Harry shaking. By the time Dumbledore had made the sword vanish back into the Sorting Hat, Harry had got himself back to normal.

Dumbledore gave him a kind smile. "Harry, I want to thank you. Your decision to bring this diary directly to me may have saved lives. In light of your tremendous service to the school, I am awarding you 100 House Points for Gryffindor. I will also see about giving you an Award for Special Services to the School. Tom never deserved his, but you certainly do. Not only have you given me the means with which to clear Hagrid's name, but you have also brought the true Heir of Slytherin to justice."

Harry was blushing furiously, and wished Dumbledore would just forget about it. "Um… please don't do that, Professor. I don't need anything like that."

"Regardless, you shall have it." Dumbledore's voice was uncharacteristically stern, though his eyes twinkled. "It is an important rule of teaching that good performance be rewarded. After what you have done, not to recognize your actions would be almost criminal. I will, of course, have to make a small announcement to the school at dinner tonight. They deserve to know that the Heir of Slytherin is no more. I will also have to explain about your House Points… I'm sure Professor Snape, for one, will want to hear a full explanation before accepting that they were rightfully awarded. I know you are not fond of public congratulations, but you shall have to bear the burden one more time."

None of Harry's protests moved the Headmaster in the slightest, and as he left Dumbledore's Office, Harry knew that dinner was going to be extremely embarrassing.

oOoOo

It wasn't as bad as Harry thought it would be… it was much worse. Dumbledore began his announcement with the news that Harry had won Gryffindor one hundred House Points, and the tide of eyes focusing on him made Harry want to hide under the table.

"He has earned every single one of those points," Dumbledore declared, "because he protected this school once again from a plot engendered by Lord Voldemort." Dumbledore raised a hand for silence when the Great Hall erupted in gasps and muttered exclamations. He held up Tom Riddle's diary, shriveled and ink-stained, for everyone to see.

"This diary was left here by Lord Voldemort, who was the true Heir of Slytherin," Dumbledore exclaimed. "Now that the diary has been destroyed, the threat from the Chamber of Secrets is over. I will say it again: the threat of the Chamber is finished. You need no longer fear the Heir, thanks to Mr. Potter's brave action."

Harry, however, was no longer listening, and neither were his friends. At the moment when Dumbledore held up the diary, Ginny had gone absolutely rigid. When Dumbledore said Voldemort's name she was shaking, and then, without warning, she collapsed. Ron, who was sitting next to her, managed to catch her before her face fell into her soup bowl.

Ron stood up, not caring that Dumbledore was in the middle of his speech, and hoisted Ginny onto his back. He tore out of the Great Hall with Harry, Hermione, Neville, Percy and the twins in hot pursuit. The startled eyes of the entire school followed them out, and just before they left Harry heard Dumbledore trying to get the students' attention, allowing the Gryffindors a bit of privacy as they brought Ginny to the Hospital Wing.

Madam Pomfrey took charge immediately, quieting Ron who was near senseless with worry. She installed Ginny in a hospital bed and began performing various diagnostic spells, while Ron and the twins hovered around her like red-headed mother hens. Percy shooed them away, telling them to let Madam Pomfrey work, but Harry knew from the worried looks Percy kept sending toward his little sister that he was just as scared as the rest.

It appeared that there was nothing wrong with Ginny, however. "Just a slight shock," Madam Pomfrey assured them. "She'll be up in a minute."

They waited, crowding the room and counting the seconds. Soon enough Ginny opened her eyes, and blushed with shame as she saw all of the worried faces.

"You… didn't have to stay…" she said, looking down at the blankets instead of at them.

"Are you barmy?" Ron demanded. "You're my sister! _Our_ sister," he added quickly as the twins started to object. "What happened to you?"

Ginny kept looking down, as if she were gathering her strength, before raising her head and addressing everyone. "It… it was me. I had the diary… I used to write in it. It spoke to me. Then it- it began to control me. I couldn't stop it." She spoke faster and faster, and when she was finished she hung her head in shame.

The Gryffindors looked at each other in shock. Harry felt terrible – this whole time he'd thought Ginny was shy or just weird, and it turned out she'd been under the sway of Lord Voldemort! He couldn't believe that none of them had noticed anything. Of them all, Ron looked the most horrified. He was closest to Ginny in age, and spent the most time with her. Harry could guess that Ron felt that this was all his fault. Hermione put a quiet hand on his shoulder, but didn't say anything.

Harry looked back at Ginny, and in spite of the gravity of the situation he couldn't help but crack a smile. Ginny also looked as if she expected everyone to blame her for this, but Harry knew that the thought hadn't even crossed their minds. It was likely to be a close match over who felt more guilty: Ginny or Ron. Harry thought he'd better say something before the two Weasleys fell any deeper into a spiral of self-destructive guilt.

"It's not your fault," he said fiercely. Ginny looked up at him in surprise, and blinked at the intensity in his voice. "It's not," he repeated. "That diary was so strong it took all of Dumbledore's magic to kill it. All I did was bring him the diary, and I couldn't have done that if you hadn't thrown it away."

The older Weasleys, Neville, and Hermione looked at Ginny in surprise. "That was you, wasn't it?" Harry asked, although he already knew the answer. "You tried to flush the diary down the toilet!"

Ginny choked back a quiet sob, rubbed her hand across her eyes, and nodded. "Yeah," she said. "It… it wanted me to start hurting people. I was losing control… blacking out… when I realized, I threw it into that bathroom that's always out-of-order."

"You see that?" Harry said triumphantly. "You have absolutely nothing to blame yourself for. You didn't just fight Voldemort, you beat him! For God's sake, you flushed him down a toilet! You should be proud of yourself, because we're all _bloody_ proud of you already!"

The other Weasleys fell over themselves backing Harry up, and Ginny managed a laugh that half turned into a sob. Hermione caught Harry's eye, and gave him a thumbs up and a proud smile. Harry nodded back.

He hadn't said a word to Ginny during the year, when she was struggling with a burden she should never have had to carry alone. He only hoped that his words now weren't too late. He wasn't too worried, however – Ginny had proven herself a hundred times over when she threw the diary away, and once people reassured her that the only person to blame was Lord Voldemort, she would be perfectly fine again.

Ron then increased Harry's respect for him a hundredfold by telling Ginny the story of Peter Pettigrew. He didn't share the details about Harry's family, but he told Ginny that he had been harboring a murderer for years without knowing. If that wasn't his fault, then it certainly wasn't Ginny's fault that she had been momentarily overpowered by the strongest Dark wizard in a century. Ginny was looking much better when Ron finished his story, and Hermione was beaming at him so brightly that Harry suspected it was only the presence of the twins that kept her from enveloping him in a bone-crushing hug.

Later on, Dumbledore came to check up on Ginny in the Hospital Wing. He was concerned after seeing her collapse in the Great Hall, but she reassured him that she was feeling much better.

After Dumbledore learned of her role in throwing away the Diary, he immediately took away fifty House Points from Harry and awarded them to Ginny.

"I'd give them to you outright," he said, "but I'm afraid that Professor Snape would have my head. He tells me that if I continue awarding excessive House Points to Gryffindors, he will resign in protest."

Dumbledore pretended to ignore Ron and the twins leaping to their feet with excitement, begging him to award them more points. He left the Hospital Wing quickly, saying that he was sure Ginny would prefer to spend her remaining recovery time with her brothers and fellow Gryffindors.

"Do you remember who gave you the diary?" Hermione asked after a moment.

Ginny thought as hard as she could, but in the end she could only shake her head. "No – I have no idea."

"That's all right," Hermione replied, holding up her hands. "Dumbledore and Harry finished the diary, so we don't need to worry about the Heir. And if you stick with us from now on, no one will be able to try anything like that again. Sound good?"

Ginny looked at Hermione with surprise, and then across at Neville, Ron, and Harry. "You mean it?" she said, a small blush creeping into her cheeks. "I wouldn't… I wouldn't be in the way?"

She was looking mostly at Ron when she said this, probably worried that her brother wouldn't want her tagging along. But Ron only smiled. "You'd better stick with us," he said gruffly, "seeing as you can't even go a whole year without getting yourself into trouble. You're worse than Fred and George!"

"Now, I say-" Fred began, highly affronted.

"-steady on, old chap!" his brother finished. "We're by far the worst Weasleys in the world, and don't you forget it!"

The Hospital Wing filled with laughter, and Harry felt that all was right with the world. Another disaster averted, another of Voldemort's plots de-railed.

_Maybe, _he thought grimly, _maybe we can finish this year in peace. _

But with their luck, it wasn't likely.

**A/N: **Hey everyone! I wanted to see how long I could go updating every day, but unfortunately I have to go out of town for the weekend so I won't be quite as quick with the next one. However, there's a lot to look forward to. Next chapter is the first half of a two-part finale for Year Two, in which all of the plans that Orochimaru has been making so far will be revealed. See you next time!


	17. A Fight in the Forest

**A/N: **Here's the first half of the conclusion of Part 1. As a kind of tribute to J.K. Rowling, I included an element of canon in this final battle that I haven't had a chance to incorporate thus far (think big-ass spiders). It's my hope that the more things change from canon in my story, the more they'll stay the same (in a sense). I want to remain true to the spirit of the series, even if I introduce new characters and make Harry and his friends a little bit more dangerous than in canon. Anyway, that's what I'm trying to do, and I leave it to all of you to tell me if I'm succeeding. Enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **I own neither Naruto nor Harry Potter

**Chapter 16: A Fight in the Forest**

In the weeks following the destruction of Riddle's diary, Ginny became a regular member of the group. Ron was particularly hesitant to let her out of his sight, and insisted that she come with them to meals. She even started exercising and joining in meditation exercises with Neville, Harry, Ron, and Hermione. They tried to practice when they could, applying the lessons that Sarutobi taught his three students in training so that Neville and Ginny could benefit as well.

Ginny also started attending meetings of the Dueling Club, which were still in full force. Professor Flitwick was reliving the glory days of his youth, when he had been one of the foremost duelists in all of Britain. Sarutobi and Snape continued to assist him, though Snape made it a point to wear a grimace the entire time.

The acceptance that Ginny found with them went a long way towards bringing her out of her shell. In fact, after the first few days she even started snapping at Ron when he became over-protective of her, telling him that she was perfectly capable of looking after herself. She proved as much in Dueling Club, where her quick reflexes made her a formidable opponent capable of holding her own even when facing off against older students.

With the diary gone and Sirius free, Harry was more at peace than he'd been in a long time. However, there were many things keeping him from being entirely at ease. The first was Peter Pettigrew – the vile murderer was still at large. Sirius was also at large, but the universal fear aimed at his godfather was another source of worry for Harry. And then there was Dobby's warning. Harry didn't know what could possibly be worse than Lord Voldemort, but that was what the little elf had said. Dobby had been right about the diary, though, even though Harry still had no idea how the House-Elf could have known about it. If Dobby had been right about the diary, it would be the height of stupidity to ignore his second warning.

So Harry and his friends continued their training with a will. They viewed their time with Sarutobi as being much more important than studying for finals, although Hermione managed to do both with ease. By this time, it was clear that Sarutobi's training had given them a significant edge over their classmates. Harry, Ron, and Hermione were the universally acknowledged stars of Dueling Club, and each week they faced challenges from older students who had heard about the exceptionally talented second years and wanted to test them.

After dueling with many 5th, 6th, and 7th-year students, Harry and his friends realized that Sarutobi was right about most wizards. They tended to think in straight lines, and their spells were straightforward and predictable. Even when the older students had more powerful magic than the 2nd-year Gryffindors, they were taken aback by the unconventional techniques that Sarutobi spent so much time drilling them on. Spells to create illusions, charms to throw off the opponent's aim, and curses that attacked from above and below all worked to tip duels in the Gryffindors' favor.

Sarutobi made sure, however, that success in Dueling Club didn't go to their heads. He worked them harder than ever, and created exercises that were much more like actual magical warfare than the civilized, regulated ritual of dueling. He pitted them against magical creatures that he acquired with Hagrid's help, and thanks to Dumbledore he was able to send an increasingly formidable array of magical constructs against his young students. Sometimes he even took the field himself and tested his charges by running them through their entire repertoire of spells and strategies, foiling their every attempt with humiliating ease. As much as they had improved, Harry knew that they had a very long way to go.

It was in the second week of April, when spring was finally beginning to free the land from the clutches of winter, that something happened to break up Harry's routine. It came in the form of a summons from Dumbledore, delivered by Snape after a double Potions lesson one Thursday afternoon. The Potions master's mouth was curled in a permanent sneer when he held Harry back after dismissing the class.

"Dumbledore would like to see you in his office. Perhaps he desires to award you another 100 House Points out of pure favoritism – if so, you have my congratulations."

Harry thought that was the height of unfair. After all, it was Snape who was the master of favoritism, never missing a chance to give one of his Slytherins a leg up over the rest of the students. But Harry could see that Snape was just waiting for him to say something disrespectful, at which point he would take away House Points from Gryffindor with great pleasure. So Harry only nodded, trying to keep his anger from showing, and left the dungeons to go once more to Dumbledore's Office.

There he found someone waiting for him, and it wasn't Dumbledore. This man was much younger, although there was something about his face that made him seem older than his years. It took Harry a moment to realize that he had seen the man's face before, in the album with photos from his parents' time at Hogwarts. More recently, he had also seen the man's face in the Daily Prophet, although the man currently standing across from Harry bore little resemblance to the unshaven escaped convict from the newspaper. This Sirius Black was still thinner than a man of his height should be, but his close-cropped black beard and shoulder-length hair were neat and tidy, and the hesitant smile on his face clearly communicated his goodwill.

Harry froze, staring at his godfather, and an awkward silence stretched between them. Sirius took a halting step forward, then stopped. "Harry," he said in a wondering tone. "It's… good to see you. You look so much like your father, except-"

Harrry smiled wryly, a little more comfortable now that he was hearing that familiar line. "My mother's eyes, right? I get that a lot."

Sirius laughed quietly. "I can see why. Still, it comes as quite a shock."

Harry thought of something that made him worry. "Wait, are you safe here? Dumbledore installed a new security system…"

Sirius looked confused for a second, and then comprehension dawned. "Oh, the Marauders' Map? We have a bit of an understanding, seeing as I helped create the thing."

Harry gaped in astonishment. "_You're_ one of the Marauders? But then…"

"Your father was too," Sirius said, seeing the direction of Harry's thoughts. "So was Remus… and Peter," he added, his dark eyes flashing at the name.

Harry didn't want to ruin his first meeting with Sirius by talking about Pettigrew, so he remained silent. He also had a lot more satisfying things to think about, not the least of which was the prospect of informing the twins that he knew the identities of their idols. He wondered what kind of favors he could wring from them in return for the information, and then reprimanded himself for thinking too much like a Slytherin.

"You… look well," Harry said, not sure how to phrase what he really meant, which was: "you look a lot less crazy than you did in the Daily Prophet articles."

Sirius nodded. "Thanks to Dumbledore. He sent me to a friend of his, who looked after me. Old Mad-Eye wasn't very keen on playing nurse, but he was surprisingly effective. It took me a while to get over the fever I developed after escaping, otherwise I would have met with you much earlier."

Harry had so many questions, but his heart was too full for speech so he didn't ask any of them. On an impulse, he stepped forward quickly and wrapped his arms around Sirius in a powerful hug. Sirius froze, and then squeezed back with all his might.

When Harry finally ended the embrace, he was a little embarrassed to realize he had a few tears welling in the corners of his eyes. He wiped them away quickly, then realized that Sirius had a similar problem. Sirius ruffled his hair, smiling as if he was fit to burst. Then he became suddenly hesitant.

"I… I know this may be a bit sudden," he said haltingly. "But I _am_ your godfather, and that means that your parents wanted me to take care of you, if… anything happened to them. In your letter, you said you lived with your mother's sister. But if you want… you'll always have a home with me."

Harry simply stared for a moment, shell-shocked. After eleven years with people who hated his guts, Sirius was willing to simply… take him away? Harry let himself imagine what it would be like to live with someone who actually cared for him, and found it even harder this time to keep the tears from falling. "I, um…" Harry stammered. "I'd like that." He couldn't begin to say how much, but he thought that Sirius understood.

Sirius nodded happily, beaming back at him. "It might take a little arranging," he said as an afterthought. "The Ministry won't take too kindly to finding out that you were living with an escaped felon. But if you really want to stay with me, we'll figure out everything else when it happens."

Harry was debating if it would be too childish to hug Sirius again when a clamor arose from behind them. It was a mixture of a warning bell and a sound like a Muggle police siren, and it was so loud that it hurt Harry's ears. He and Sirius turned, tracking the sound to its source. It seemed to be coming from a map hung up on the wall behind Dumbledore's desk – it was a map that Harry instantly recognized.

"That's the Marauders' Map," Sirius breathed, "and Dumbledore made it into a security system. Something must be happening!"

They rushed over to inspect the Map, which was entirely blank except for the area around Hagrid's hut. A crowd of named dots was emerging from the boundary of the map nearest to the Forbidden Forest, and their number was increasing rapidly.

"I don't recognize any of these names," Sirius said worriedly. "They're no wizards I've ever heard of."

"Wait," said Harry, leaving in to get a closer look. "I know those names! Ronan, Bane, and Firenze. They're-"

"Centaurs," Dumbledore's voice cut in. Harry and Sirius turned to see the Headmaster approaching. He hadn't made any sound opening the door, and Harry wondered if he might have been waiting nearby the whole time, giving them privacy but standing guard to make sure their reunion wasn't interrupted. That wasn't important now, though. Dumbledore came over to them, watching the map with worry in his eyes.

"Whatever brings the centaurs out of the Forest must be extremely important. To the best of my knowledge, this has never happened before. Mr. Potter, I'm afraid your reunion with Sirius will have to wait a while longer. Would you please return to the Gryffindor common room with all possible haste? Sirius, I would appreciate it if you could wait here until I return."

Dumbledore didn't wait for their replies, instead moving to open the window. There was a musical cry, and Harry saw with astonishment that Fawkes had taken flight. The phoenix flew across the room towards the window, picked Dumbledore up as if he weighed no more than a feather, and flew away out of sight.

Sirius turned to Harry, whose adrenaline was pumping already. "You'd best do as he says, Harry," Sirius told him. "I can see you itching to follow, but it could get messy. If Dumbledore needs any help, I'll be there."

"But he told you to stay," Harry pointed out.

Sirius gave him a crooked grin. "Then it's a good thing he's not my Headmaster anymore, isn't it? No one will see me, don't worry – I'm an old hand with Disillusionment Charms. Dumbledore might need some back-up on this one."

Harry couldn't help but grin. It seemed that Sirius really was a Marauder – his disregard for authority would have astonished even Fred and George. "Take this," he said, reaching into an inner pocket of his robe. "It's an Invisibility Cloak. I keep it with me sometimes just in case. It used to belong to my father, and Dumbledore gave it to me last year."

Sirius took the cloak with an expression of wonder. "Harry, you're a chip off the old block! I'll return it to you safely. You can rest assured – Dumbledore will always have somebody to watch his back when I'm around."

Harry wished he could go with Dumbledore as well, but he knew better than to ignore the Headmaster's request. He felt better knowing that Sirius would be there to help. "I'll see you soon," Harry said, and left the Headmaster's Office. As he took one last look over his shoulder, he saw Sirius settle the cloak around his shoulders and then disappear entirely from sight.

oOoOo

Sarutobi was informed by Armando Dippet that Dumbledore needed him down by the Quidditch pitch – the former Headmaster had a second frame in Sarutobi's office, one that Dumbledore had asked him to put up in case of just such an emergency.

Sarutobi jumped to his feet, alarmed. "What's the problem?"

Armando shook his head. "He didn't tell me, but that ruddy map in his office has been blaring non-stop for hours. He also told me to tell you that all of the students are being sent to the Great Hall, where they will be guarded by the other Professors. This is no joke."

It certainly was not. Sarutobi had a sinking feeling, and he knew very well what was causing it. A disturbance like this, so close to the end of term, was most likely Orochimaru's handiwork. Sarutobi departed for the Quidditch pitch with all possible haste. Since his clone was still watching over Harry Potter, it would dispel if it turned out that Orochimaru was trying to lure him away from the students. But as Sarutobi used the Body Flicker jutsu to move through the castle at his top speed, he was still extremely worried. In warfare, the advantage almost always went to the side that attacked first. The creed of the shinobi was practically based on the preemptive strike. Whatever Orochimaru was up to, Sarutobi would have to think several steps ahead if he hoped to counter it.

Dumbledore was waiting on the lawn in front of the entrance to the Quidditch pitch, next to a large crowd of creatures that Sarutobi had never seen before. They were a lot like horses, but their torsos and heads were human. There were about two hundred of them milling around, and they looked angry.

In the center of the group was a stretcher made of woven rope, on top of which lay the unconscious form of the Groundskeeper, Hagrid.

Sarutobi came to a stop next to Dumbledore, his speed making it seem to the strange creatures as though he had materialized from thin air. A great shout went up, and many nocked arrows to the bows that they all carried. Dumbledore raised his hands high in a peaceful gesture.

"This is Professor Sarutobi. He is a true friend, and a great warrior. Professor Sarutobi, these are the centaurs of the Forbidden Forest. They are a proud and ancient race, and it appears that their ancestral home has come under attack."

Sarutobi bowed to the centaurs, his expression growing grim. "Under attack from what?"

"We're not sure," Dumbledore replied. He gestured to one of the centaurs that was standing a few feet in front of the rest. "Bane tells me that the Forest has been more, ah… _forbidding_ of late."

Bane took another step forward, apparently unwilling to let anyone, even Dumbledore, speak for him.

"The stars have not given us any indication of this," he said angrily. "It is as if they have turned their faces from us. And now Dark creatures roam the woods which have been our home for time out of mind."

Sarutobi gathered that these centaurs were seers of a sort, using the stars to predict events. It seemed far-fetched, but Sarutobi was not one to dismiss any kind of magic in this strange world. "Perhaps your stars could not see what was coming because the threat is one that originated beyond their sight," he offered. The centaurs grew abruptly silent, and turned as one to regard him. "There is a man who comes from a different world, one with different stars," Sarutobi said. He didn't want to reveal his secret before many people, but since it was very likely that Orochimaru was behind this assault on the centaurs' home, it was only right that they knew. "He seeks to kill me, and after that he will very likely embark on a mission of subjugation, slavery, and death."

Bane eyed Sarutobi with a wary curiosity. "The stars did not warn us of you either, two-legs."

Sarutobi bowed his head in acknowledgment. "That is because I am from the same world. I want nothing more than to go home, but even if I knew how I could not leave before killing Orochimaru. His very existence is a disease that blights everything it touches. If you allow me, I will fight with you to reclaim your home."

Bane retreated and engaged in a swift, whispered conversation with several of the centaurs nearest him. After a few seconds he turned back to Sarutobi, his eyes flashing. "We accept your offer. Can you tell us anything about the Dark creatures that serve him? The Forest has new predators now, ones that turn the rest of the Forest against us. The Unicorns are fleeing, and the Acromantulas are more aggressive of late."

"I don't know what form the danger will take," Sarutobi admitted. "But from what I know of Orochimaru, he likes to experiment on the living to make them into weapons. In this world of magic, I shudder to think what allies he may have created."

Dumbledore, who had been listening quietly to this exchange, chose this moment to cut in. "I believe Hagrid might know more," he said, nodding at the Groundskeeper, who was still out cold on the makeshift sling. "I assume that it was not you who did this to him?" he added as an afterthought.

Bain pawed at the ground with one angry hoof. "Of course not, Dumbledore! We found him like this, stunned at the edge of the Forest. There was something approaching him, some Dark creature, that wanted to finish what it started. Finding Hagrid only confirmed what we knew to be true: we are at war!"

"Let us see if Hagrid has any new information for us," Dumbledore said gently. He pointed his wand at the Groundskeeper, the centaurs scrambling to get out of the way. "_Ennervate_." Hagrid arched his back when the beam of light hit him, his eyes snapping open.

"Whoa!" He came to his feet with a mighty roar, laying about with the umbrella gripped in his hand. The centaurs jumped further back, loudly voicing their disapproval.

"Hagrid, calm down," Dumbledore implored. "You're safe, and we need your help preparing for whatever awaits us in the Forest."

Dumbledore's voice brought Hagrid back to the present. He stopped waving his umbrella wildly, and spoke to the Headmaster urgently.

"There's sommat wrong with the Forest, Headmaster," Hagrid said quickly. "I was takin' a look, checkin' on some things, yeh know. Next thing I know, some great beast is stalkin' me. I went back ter the Forest's edge, but I wasn't fast enough. It caught up ter me. I saw a red light, an' tha's the last thing I remember. I thought I was done for, an' no mistake."

"You have the centaurs to thank for your deliverance, Hagrid," Dumbledore said, gesturing at the giant sling in which the centaurs had carried him. "Do you have any idea what that light could have been?"

Hagrid scratched his head. "Not rightly sure, Headmaster. But it seemed like it coulda' bin a Stunner. Thing is, I'm resistant to 'em-" he broke off, looking at Professor Sarutobi nervously. "Thick skin, yeh know," he muttered sheepishly.

Dumbledore and Sarutobi exchanged worried looks. A monster with the ability to cast spells strong enough to overcome Hagrid's natural resistance? That could only be Orochimaru's handiwork.

Bane and some of the other centaurs were beginning to grow restless. "We know all we need," Bane declared. "An evil power is trying to take our Forest, and we will not stand idly by. Dumbledore, will you lend us your aid?"

"Of course," Dumbledore said at once. "I have always been a friend to the centaurs, and I'm not about to turn my back on you now. I've already sent an urgent message to the Ministry, requesting that a task force of Aurors be sent to the Forest immediately – I though it only best to take precautions."

"The Ministry is no friend to non-humans," Bane declared angrily. "We shall not wait to see if they deign to help us in our hour of need. Let them join the fight as reinforcements if they can truly want to help. We march now!"

The centaurs gave answered roars of approval, and Sarutobi could see that they were not going to agree to wait. That was all right with him, however, because the sooner they began the fight, the sooner Sarutobi could settle things with Orochimaru. Somewhere out in those trees, Sarutobi knew, the Snake Sannin was waiting. He could feel it.

"The time to act is now," Sarutobi agreed, looking over at Dumbledore. "We have a strong force of centaurs, and a strike team of four wizards to counter whatever magical aid Orochimaru has found for his forces. With Aurors on the way, it's best that we make our move now, and size up the situation before they get here. Then we can deploy them most effectively."

"Did you say _four_ wizards?" Hagrid asked, picking at his ear with one huge forefinger. "I on'y count three, an' that's _if _yeh're countin' me."

"I certainly am," Sarutobi grinned, looking at Hagrid's umbrella. "Unless I'm mistaken, that thing is good for more than holding off the rain. And as for there being four of us, well… an Invisibility Cloak is not quite as effective when you insist on breathing through your mouth… Sirius."

There was an embarrassed coughing, and then Sirius stepped out from underneath the Invisibility Cloak. Hagrid jumped back and squawked with surprise. "Sirius Black!"

Dumbledore stepped in between Sirius and the outraged Groundskeeper. "Hagrid! We have no time for this. I can assure you, Sirius wasn't responsible for betraying Lily and James. The true murderer is still alive and on the run."

Sirius poked his head around Dumbledore, his expression almost painfully earnest. "I swear to you Hagrid, I didn't do it! Harry believes me, too – we've already met."

Hagrid calmed down enough to lower his umbrella, though his breath still came in short, angry gasps. "Headmaster… yeh're sure abou' this?"

Dumbledore nodded gravely. "Yes, Hagrid."

The Groundskeeper finally nodded, peering at Sirius with wonder in his eyes. Behind him, the army of centaurs looked thoroughly confused.

"If we have all that out of the way," Sarutobi said genially, "perhaps we might leave for the Forest? We have a snake to exterminate."

oOoOo

Sarutobi led the small army of centaurs through the Forbidden Forest, treading carefully through the tangled brush without making the smallest of sounds. His efforts at stealth were more wishful thinking than anything, however – Hagrid was marching beside him, and the large Groundskeeper was making enough noise to wake the dead. Dumbledore and Sirius were no woodsmen either, but even they winced every time Hagrid accidentally snapped another fallen branch.

The centaurs fanned out behind the four magic-users, bows drawn and sharp eyes peering into the darkness for any sign of Orochimaru's forces. At first they hadn't wanted to take orders from Sarutobi, but their reticence hadn't lasted long. Sarutobi had picked up Bane with one hand, using chakra to boost his strength, and thrown him at the nearest tree. Some of the other centaurs had been ready to turn on him after that, but Bane came to his senses in time to call them off. Since then, none had questioned his fitness to lead – at least, not to his face, and that was all that Sarutobi cared about. As long as they followed his orders, he didn't need to impress them with his experience leading men and women into battle.

The Forbidden Forest was ominously empty. No birds chirped in the trees, no animals rustled through the leaves and bushes on the ground. It was utterly quiet, with the exception of Hagrid's stomping feet. That silence was as good as a warning bell for Sarutobi, who knew from experience in the forests of Konoha that true silence could only mean invaders. The daily rhythm of life in the woods always had a kind of music to it, if you only knew how to listen. The oppressive quiet they encountered now meant that something had scared away the usual residents of the Forbidden Forest.

With his chakra-enhanced senses, Sarutobi picked up on the location of their enemies even before the centaurs. He stopped, signaling for his ragtag force to do the same. "They have us surrounded," he said grimly. "They must have circled in behind to cut us off, then approached from all sides until they caught us in their trap."

"Who did?" Hagrid asked, confused.

Sarutobi checked that his ninja tools were readily available in his belt pouch, and frowned grimly. "I don't know. But whatever's out there, we'll be ready."

He scanned the surroundings, realizing that the area in which they were gathered was not working to their advantage. The dense tree cover would allow their assailants to get close, and the centaurs would have to aim at targets both at ground level and in the trees. Sarutobi would have to make some changes to the terrain.

"Dumbledore," he called out, "can you Transfigure enough trees and create a clearing large enough for all of us?"

Dumbledore looked slightly curious, but only nodded.

"Do it!" Sarutobi told him. "We stand a better chance in an open area."

Dumbledore raised his wand and spoke a few words that shook the Forest to its core. At least twenty giant trees began to shrink, pulling in their branches and collapsing in on themselves. Soon all of them were standing together in a make-shift clearing, with small, leafy bushes where there had once been mighty trees. Sarutobi surveyed the results of Dumbledore's magic with satisfaction. The ability to reshape the terrain according to one's whim was unbelievably useful, and Sarutobi would have killed to be have possessed that ability during the previous shinobi wars. In order to clear that many trees, Sarutobi would have had to either cut them down or burn them: if he cut them down, they would have obstructed the battlefield just as surely as they would have standing; and if he burned them, the rest of the forest would have burned down as well. Wizard's magic, as Sarutobi had long suspected, had the potential to be just as useful in warfare as ninjutsu or genjutsu.

Sarutobi raised his voice, speaking to all of the centaurs as well as the wizards at his side.

"They're coming! We'll form up in a square facing outward. Dumbledore, Sirius, Hagrid – we each take one side, in front of the centaurs. Archers in double-file, two lines of twenty-five centaurs on each side."

There was no time for argument, and no one tried. The centaurs galloped into formation, abandoning stealth to form ranks like Sarutobi had directed, as quickly as possible. They formed a tight square, with two ranks facing in each direction so that they could stagger their volleys. Sarutobi stepped in front of the line facing north, and the other three magic-users agreed on which direction to take. Sarutobi knew that the ability to use magic made them the most powerful members of this fight, no matter how accurate the centaur archers might be. It would be up to them to minimize the casualties that the centaurs suffered.

At first there was no indication that they were not alone, except for the vibrations in the ground that were too subtle for any but Sarutobi to sense. Then a slow rustling floated in from the outlying trees, along with a menacing clicking that rose in volume with each passing second. A second later Sarutobi saw the first of the dark forms scuttling around at the edges of his vision, and before long it was clear that a horde of large creatures had them completely surrounded. Even with Sarutobi and the wizards, the centaurs were laughably outnumbered.

At that moment, Sarutobi wished more than ever that he was back in Konoha. Of course, he thought that every day. Rare were the nights when the faces of Naruto, Konohamaru, Asuma, and all of his other beloved shinobi did not visit him in dreams. But now, looking at the terrors that lurked in the darkness, Sarutobi would have given a great deal to be back home. At least enemy shinobi were still people and not monsters from nightmare. Were those… Sarutobi blinked twice, hoping that his eyes weren't deceiving him… were those giant _spiders_?

Their enemies were coming closer now, ever so slowly, and the rest of Sarutobi's allies began to see what he saw. "Acromantulas," Dumbledore said, his mouth twisting in a severe frown. "There may be other creatures as well, but the majority of our foes appear to be Acromantulas."

Sarutobi felt it safe to assume that "Acromantula" was wizard-speak for "preposterously big spider." He was only glad that none of his shinobi had ever possessed the Summoning Contract for the Spider clan – they were disgusting, bloodthirsty beasts that would eat their offspring as soon as look at them.

Hagrid was particularly affected by the knowledge that they would be fighting Acromantulas. He took a step forward, and his voice boomed like thunder. "Aragog!" he cried, silencing the chittering of the advancing spiders. "ARAGOG! I know yeh're out there! Why're yeh doin' this?"

There was a tense pause, as if the Forest itself was holding its breath. The amorphous black mass of spiders seemed to split down the middle, respectfully drawing back to create an opening. A solitary form walked forward ponderously. It was a spider many times larger than the rest, and its many eyes burned with an alien intelligence.

"I am sorry, Hagrid," the spider said in a voice burdened with a weariness that astonished Sarutobi. "I wish there was some other way. But there is nothing I can do – if we don't fight, we die. _He_ will kill us all."

Sarutobi had no need to ask who _He_ might be. Somehow it didn't surprise him that Orochimaru had managed to intimidate a race of giant spiders into attacking the centaurs. It was just like the Snake Sannin to intimidate the locals into acting as his cannon fodder. The giant spider, apparently named Aragog, continued to speak to Hagrid.

"I thank you for everything you've done for me, Hagrid," Aragog said. "Your name will be remembered by my progeny, for as long as there are any of us left."

The spider retreated slowly, easing its bulk past its smaller and lighter relatives. Aragog remained impervious to Hagrid's increasingly desperate pleas.

"Peace, Hagrid," the Headmaster said at last. "It is clear that your friendship is helpless to stop the coming battle. Orochimaru has much to answer for."

_Indeed he has_, Sarutobi silently agreed. _And he will_.

But first, they would have to survive. From the surrounding trees, the clicking and rustling started again, growing until it became so loud it drowned out thought. The Acromantulas were working themselves into a frenzy. Soon they would attack.

oOoOo

While the centaurs were preparing for the fight of their lives, Hogsmeade Village witnessed the appearance of two unexpected visitors. Lucius Malfoy appeared outside of the Hog's Head, his House-Elf Dobby following close on his heels, cringing every other second as though he expected to be hit. Following the new regulations put in place by Headmaster Dumbledore regarding visitors to Hogwarts, Lucius paid a quick visit to Aberforth at the Hog's Head. He told the bartender he was going to Hogwarts to bring his son home, and Aberforth had no reason not to believe him, even though Lucius seemed tense and unusually on edge. After receiving two magical Visitors' Passes, one for himself and one for Dobby, Lucius marched regally out of the village and up to the Castle.

He entered the front door with a flourish, finding the Entrance Hall empty except for Professor McGonagall. She was standing guard before the door that opened into the Great Hall, and behind the door Lucius could hear the sound of hundreds of students chattering in confusion and speculation. Lucius gave a sigh of relief – he had guessed that Dumbledore would respond to the threat from the Forbidden Forest by gathering the students in a safe place, and he had been right.

Now there was nothing stopping him from carrying out Orochimaru's orders. But first… he would save Draco. Lucius knew he was too far in thrall to Orochimaru to save himself, but he would do everything he could to make sure that Draco made it through the coming trials unscathed.

"Lucius," McGonagall said, sounding surprised. "What brings you here?"

"I've come for my son," replied Lucius. "With everything I've heard about the Chamber of Secrets and basilisks running loose, I no longer have confidence in Dumbledore's ability to keep my child safe. I am going to take Draco home, and then I will be having strong words with the Board of Governors."

Professor McGonagall, to her credit, weathered his accusations with considerable poise. "You are a bit behind the times, Lucius. The Heir of Slytherin has been brought to justice, and the students are completely safe."

Lucius pointed behind Professor McGonagall to the Great Hall, where by the sound emerging from behind the door, every single student in the school must be gathered. "If there's no danger, then why have you gathered all of the students here? From what I remember, that only happens when there is something wrong."

"This is just a precaution until the Headmaster tells us what's going on," Minerva said staunchly. Lucius hid his grimace – in a few hours, the Headmaster would likely be dead. Lucius could never have expected actually _wanting_ the Headmaster to prevail in a fight against evil, but this time he wouldn't mind if Dumbledore managed to defeat Orochimaru. However, he didn't believe there was any chance of that happening. Orochimaru was simply too powerful. Lucius wasn't even sure he was completely human.

"I don't care what's going on," Lucius said brusquely. "Please bring me my son immediately." Lucius noticed Dobby making awkward facial expressions, no doubt doing his best to tip off Professor McGonagall about the real reason that Lucius was here. He was too constrained by Lucius' direct order to do anything more. Lucius rapped Dobby on the head with his cane, making Dobby stop his efforts and instead clutch his aching head.

Minerva's mouth pursed a little at this open display of cruelty – though Lucius considered it mere discipline. "I'll be right back," she said, and went into the Great Hall. A few seconds later she re-emerged, Draco walking slowly behind her. When he saw his father, Draco's face lit up. Lucius nodded to him gravely, and Draco remembered that Malfoys weren't supposed to show affection in public. Lucius guessed that the lack of letters from home had been harder on Draco than he'd anticipated, if he was forgetting his lessons enough to show such open emotion.

Lucius gestured to Dobby. "Draco, you will be returning home immediately. I have some matters to discuss with Professor McGonagall, and then I will return and see about arrangements for continuing your education."

Draco's jaw dropped, but he kept his wits about him enough not to argue. Dobby stepped forward, taking out a small key from inside his robes. It was a Portkey that Lucius had prepared to bring Dobby and his son back to the safety of Malfoy Manor. He didn't want his son in the way when things started to get bloody.

Still looking confused, and more than a little hurt by his father's apparent disregard, Draco touched the key with his right hand. Dobby and Draco disappeared, leaving Lucius alone in the entrance hall with McGonagall.

Lucius sighed with relief. For now, at least, Draco was safe. McGonagall looked at him askance, her mouth pursed in a very disapproving fashion. "What was it you wanted to discuss with me?" she asked pointedly.

"I'm sorry, Professor," Lucius said, drawing his wand and casting his cane aside. "But I have to ask you to hand Harry Potter over to me. If you do that right now, no one will get hurt."

Minerva stared at him, too stunned to respond. There was a flash of movement, and then a second person stood next to the Transfiguration Professor. It was an old man wearing white robes with red trim. On his head was an angular white hat featuring a strange-looking symbol etched in red. This must be the Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor that Draco had written home about – Professor Sarutobi. Lucius didn't know much about him, except that for some reason Lord Orochimaru hated him.

"I think it would be wise to consider this man a threat, Professor," the Defence Professor said to McGonagall. "I took the liberty of informing the other teachers."

As he finished speaking, the door to the Great Hall burst open, and Professors Sprout, Snape, and Flitwick raced to stand next to McGonagall.

They reacted to the wand in his hand with varying levels of alarm. "Lucius," Snape demanded, "what are you thinking? Have you gone mad? Is this some insane desire to avenge the Dark Lord?"

Lucius laughed at the sheer absurdity of it all. When one was bound by a force too strong to fight, powerless to oppose one's fate, the only thing left to do was laugh. "I'm not Bellatrix, Severus. The Dark Lord is gone, and I would not see him back again. Still, I have no choice. I tell you again: give Harry Potter to me, and no one need be harmed."

"This is lunacy, Lucius," McGonagall said crisply. "You cannot hope to defeat us all. Throw down your wand, and Dumbledore will be merciful."

Lucius looked at the teachers arrayed against him, the strongest spellcasters that Hogwarts could muster. Hilarity rose like a bubble in his throat, and he started laughing so hard he could barely breathe. Orochimaru had taken far more from him than Lucius could ever regain: his freedom, his self-esteem, his family. But he had at least given him power.

Lucius tapped that power, feeling the heady rush as Orochimaru's Curse Mark flooded his veins with liquid fire. He screamed with the pain, pain that was barely distinguishable from ecstasy. Lucius didn't need a mirror to know the transformation that he was undergoing – he had done this before, although Orochimaru had been there to guide him through the process. Dark, jagged lines spread over Lucius' body, originating from the teardrop-shaped Curse Mark and extending all the way down to his fingertips. His skin became a hellish jigsaw puzzle of black lines that elicited gasps of surprise and fear from the awestruck Professors.

Magic flowed through his entire body, a river of ice and fire that was both impossibly sweet and unutterably painful. Lucius surrendered to the irresistible pull of the power coursing through his veins.

"Do you really think," he cried, laughing at the pitiful guardians before him, "that it is Dumbledore's mercy that matters now?"

**A/N: **I'll see you all next time with the conclusion to Year Two! I just want to say, to clear up any possible confusion, that the Sarutobi confronting Lucius is a Shadow Clone. It only has a fraction of the real Sarutobi's chakra, and its original purpose was to dispel if Harry was in danger from Orochimaru, so that Sarutobi could go to his defense. But Sarutobi is tied up fighting Orochimaru's forces in the Forest, so this time Harry won't have anyone swooping in to save the day like with the Basilisk. And make no mistake, Lucius with a Curse Mark is no pushover.


	18. Swords, Sorcery, and Sacrifice

**A/N: **This chapter was extremely hard for me to write. I could picture every scene in my head, exactly how I wanted them to go, but getting the words on paper was like beating my head against a dead hippogriff (which, in case you've never done that, is very frustrating). Anyway, here's the final chapter of Year 2, as close as I could get it to my initial vision. Enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **I own neither Harry Potter nor Naruto

**Chapter 17: Swords, Sorcery, and Sacrifice**

Sarutobi and his allies stood in a square clearing deep in the heart of the Forbidden Forest. The horde of Acromantulas were waiting just outside in the cover of the trees, none of them wanting to be the first to venture into the clearing, for fear of the arrows that the centaurs were shooting with deadly accuracy. Soon enough, however, their bloodlust would push them beyond the state where fear could rein them in.

Sarutobi decided it was time to do his part to strengthen their defenses. He focused his chakra and bent at the waist to bring one hand in contact with the earth. "_Earth Release: Four-Wall Fortress._" Around the perimeter of the clearing that Dumbledore had created, the earth rose up to form thick walls fully ten feet tall. The advancing Acromantulas were abruptly blocked from view.

"They'll have to come over the walls," Sarutobi called out. "Pick your targets carefully!"

The centaurs stomped their hooves in approval, some of them letting out loud war-cries. Since the spiders would have to come over the wall, the archers had a level target at which to aim. It would be like shooting fish in a barrel. The rustling and clicking of thousands of angry spiders grew even louder, making Sarutobi grimace. Maybe fish in a barrel was a slightly misleading figure of speech.

"Archers at the ready," Bane called, nocking an arrow and drawing it halfway. "Loose at will!"

It was Bane who shot the first arrow, catching one of the braver Acromantulas just as its head popped up over the wall. The arrow sank deeply into one of its angry red eyes, piercing its brain and killing it instantly. Its momentum carried it over the wall, where it dropped like a heavy sack of flour to the ground. It was the first of many, and soon the ground closest to Sarutobi's earthen walls was littered with the corpses of giant spiders.

The air filled with the distinctive _twang_ of bowstrings snapping, the ominous _thrum_ of arrows slicing through the air, and the agonized, inhuman shrieks that followed when arrows hit their targets. Even with the unerring accuracy that the centaurs possessed, they were at a grievous disadvantage. Now that the Acromantulas had given in to their bloodlust, they were driving forward without fear of the arrows that claimed so many of their lives. Spiders clambered over the corpses of their brethren in order to get to the small group of defenders in the center of the clearing. More and more poured over the walls, and if they ever managed to close with the centaurs the fight would be over.

It was thanks to the magic-users that the centaurs weren't overrun. Sarutobi was conserving his chakra carefully, aware that he would need to face Orochimaru before long, but he made sure to send a wave of fire toward the walls whenever it seemed that the archers on his side were having trouble with the increasing numbers of their foe.

Dumbledore was also using fire, controlling it with his wand and making a hellish barrier that few Acromantulas were brave enough to approach. Sarutobi didn't know how long Dumbledore would be able to keep his spell going, but for now his side was actually the most secure of them all. Sirius was using a spell that seemed to act like an exploding tag, gouging chunks out of approaching Acromantulas and creating disorienting bursts of light and sound. Hagrid was the most erratic, sending a variety of differently-colored jets of deadly light from the end of his umbrella. Occasionally Dumbledore swept his fire spell over to Hagrid's or Sirius' flank, roasting the front line of spiders and giving his friends some breathing room. He could only do this for a short period of time, however, or risk allowing his own side to be overwhelmed.

Sarutobi had never before been a witness to such pure slaughter. The defenders had the advantage of both position and magic, and the Acromantulas died by the hundreds as they attempted to close the distance from the walls. The ground was littered with the smoldering corpses of spiders, more joining the ranks of the dying with each passing second. It was horrifying, senseless, and without purpose. It had Orochimaru written all over it.

Still, the defenders were holding. Not a single one had yet fallen, and their attackers had yet to come within ten feet of their position. If the fight continued like this, then the centaurs would be victorious. But Sarutobi knew this was merely the beginning. Orochimaru meant to soften them up by throwing the Acromantulas at them. The centaurs would use up their arrows and the magic-users would run out of steam. Then Orochimaru would send in something else. And even though Sarutobi knew it was coming, he had no choice but to play this game by Orochimaru's rules. If they stopped using magic and chakra, the centaurs wouldn't be able to hold off their attackers by themselves.

It was obvious to them all when Orochimaru initiated the second phase of his attack. The Acromantulas fell back from the walls, and for a second silence descended in the Forest. Some of the centaurs started to cheer, but Sarutobi quieted them with a curt order. Something was not right… he could sense something coming closer. Something powerful.

A cry echoed through the woods, warped and twisted from rebounding off of tree branches. It was high-pitched wail, almost a scream of pain, and there was something frighteningly… human… about it. The source of the cry came into view, bounding over the wall with a jump that wouldn't have been out of place for a shinobi. It was a bulky form swathed in dark robes, moving too fast for anyone but Sarutobi to react. He flung a kunai with an exploding tag at the creature, but it merely wrapped its cloak around itself more tightly. The cloak must have been reinforced with some kind of magic, because the assailant came through the explosion unscathed. It landed on a centaur, dodging the handful of arrows that had been shot at it, and drove its prey mercilessly into the dirt.

There was a flash of motion and then the centaur was dead, its neck snapped cleanly by the dark creature. There was an instant in which no one moved, broken when the robed fiend brought up its hand, revealing a wand. Sarutobi reacted as fast as he could, but not in time to save the centaur that caught the brunt of the beam of red light erupting from the wand. It was a blasting curse so powerful that it passed through its first target and hit the centaur behind it. By that point a dozen arrows were already in the air, and Sarutobi's jutsu had taken effect.

It was an Earth-release technique that turned the ground around an enemy into quicksand. The creature let out a roar of rage, and struggled ferociously against the earth trapping its legs. The arrows landed, riddling the creature like a pincushion but seeming to have no other effect than to enrage it further. Sarutobi vanished with the Body-Flicker jutsu and reappeared directly behind the creature. He sank his kunai deeply into its right eye, noting with satisfaction that whatever protection Orochimaru had given this monster didn't extend to the parts of it that were exposed.

At last the creature ceased its struggles. The centaurs – and Sarutobi too, for that matter – stared at it with horror. "What kind of-"

But Bane's sentence was cut off, as Sarutobi sensed the creature growing hot to the touch, its skin beginning to glow in an ominous fashion. There was no time to retreat, and the corpse was about to explode.

Sarutobi proved then and there that he was the foremost shinobi of his generation. He performed two one-handed seals simultaneously, splitting his chakra into two Earth techniques at once. He put both hands on the ground and desperately channeled chakra into the earth. The first technique was a more extreme version of the quicksand jutsu, which sank the dead creature deeper into the ground. The second technique formed a hard shell of rock, as hard as Sarutobi could create, around the corpse.

It almost wasn't enough. The force of the explosion was much greater than an explosive tag, or even a dozen explosive tags. It shattered the shell of rock encasing the body and tore through the earth, creating a shock wave that sent Sarutobi crashing into the row of centaurs behind him. Strong arms caught him, but the force of the blast had knocked many centaurs to the ground. Several were bleeding from gashes on their exposed torsos, as the blast had propelled bits of rock through the air at high speeds.

"What the _hell_ was that?" Sirius shouted, echoing the sentiment of everyone there, Sarutobi included. He knew that Orochimaru was the mastermind behind that creature, but that gave him no clue as to what it _was_. That final blast had contained chakra! He could sense it as the explosion gained force, but there wasn't enough chakra to create a blast of that magnitude. Sarutobi experienced a sinking feeling as he realized the truth – Orochimaru had somehow managed to fuse chakra and magic to create a weapon with enormous destructive potential.

Dumbledore stepped forward, his face looking even graver than Sarutobi's. "That," he said, pointing at the crater where the creature had once been, "is Augustus Rookwood. Or it was. I recognized him when his hood fell. He was once a servant of Voldemort, and until very recently was a respected employee of the Ministry."

Sarutobi cursed freely. "It appears that Orochimaru has wasted no time finding wizards for his experiments."

"An' he has more," Hagrid said, a frown creasing his face. He pointed out into the Forest. "Listen!"

More cries echoed from the Forest, similar to the sounds made by the monster that had once been Augustus Rookwood. Sarutobi tried to keep count, but stopped being able to distinguish additional enemies around ten. When the rustling and clicking of the Acromantulas began again, Sarutobi knew they were in trouble. With an entire squad of those magic-wielding beasts wreaking havoc in the middle of their formation, they would be unable to keep the Acromantulas at bay. Even if Sarutobi and Dumbledore could kill Orochimaru's monsters, they were created to self-destruct, meaning it would be just as dangerous to kill them as to leave them alive. The centaurs would be overrun in a matter of minutes.

Sarutobi was the veteran of enough battles to recognize when it was time to retreat. The walls that he'd created, while useful when they were holding off the Acromantulas, had now become their enemy. It was the centaurs who were now like fish in a barrel, just waiting for the sticks of dynamite that were Orochimaru's twisted wizards to come blow them all to hell. If they wanted to survive, it was time for an orderly retreat.

Sarutobi drew on years of battlefield experience, raising his voice enough to be heard over the cacophony of the approaching monsters. "We must retreat! Back to the castle – we'll make our stand there!"

Sarutobi knew that the centaurs didn't stand much chance of making it all the way to the castle. They would have to fight long before reaching the walls. But there was hope, and it came in the form of reinforcements from the Ministry. Wizards trained in combat might be able to neutralize the threat from Orochimaru's experiments, as long as there was enough of a number advantage.

But Sarutobi wouldn't get to see the outcome of this particular battle. "Bane, you're in charge," he cried out, actually startling the centaur.

"You're not coming with us?"

Sarutobi grinned at the centaur, who had impressed him with the loyalty he commanded from his fighters. "No," he said. "I'm going to wait here for Orochimaru. It's my hope that without him to drive them, the Acromantulas won't advance past the edge of the Forest. Then all you'll have to deal with will be the creatures. Make sure you try and maintain your distance," Sarutobi added as an afterthought. "They explode."

The centaur gave him a wry grin. "I hadn't noticed."

Dumbledore came over to Sarutobi, glancing around at the walls where their enemies would soon reappear. "Are you sure that Orochimaru will choose to fight you? If he knows you're waiting for him, won't he just avoid you and continue towards Hogwarts?"

"No," Sarutobi said, completely certain. "Orochimaru wants to kill me. He thinks he's stronger than me, and he may very well be right. I'm practically the only person standing in the way of his sovereignty in this world. He'll come to meet me."

Dumbedore acknowledged this with a nod. "Then I'll stay and fight with you. Perhaps the two of us will be enough to stop your former student."

"I would be glad of your help," Sarutobi said. "Now, let's see what we can do to get these centaurs out of here safely. Hagrid, Sirius!" The two straightened in response to his tone of command, almost coming to attention. "You're taking point – clear a path back out of the Forest. Bane, keep your centaurs moving. Don't stop even if the spiders manage to close with you – the minute you stop moving forward, you're lost. As soon as Orochimaru is dead, we'll rejoin you. With a little luck, the Acromantulas won't leave the Forest."

They nodded tersely, wands and bows held in white-knuckled grips. There was no use waiting any longer – another few seconds and the Acromantulas would be up over the walls.

"Now!" Sarutobi said, activating a modified Earth-style jutsu. The wall closest to Hogwarts began to shift, not sinking into the ground but falling outward with punishing force. The sickly sound of dozens of Acromantulas being squished made Hagrid wince. Then the herd of centaurs charged towards the opening, unleashing a hail of arrows into the waiting horde.

Hagrid led the charge, brandishing his umbrella like a broadsword. Sirius was on Bane's back, clutching the centaur around the neck with one hand while furiously sending out blasting curses with the wand in his other hand.

Sarutobi held out his hand to Dumbledore and activated a genjutsu that would keep them safe from the senses of the Acromantulas. Then he used an Earth-style jutsu often employed by shinobi from Iwagakure. It allowed the user to sink below the earth, hidden from the eyes and ears of the rest of the world. It had a fairly recognizable chakra signature, which Sarutobi was counting on to tip off his former student. He didn't want Orochimaru to have any trouble realizing that he was still in the clearing.

Within minutes the sounds of battle had receded, the Acromantulas tearing off after the centaurs in full force. Sarutobi gave it a few more minutes to be sure, then brought himself and Dumbledore to the surface. He dispelled the genjutsu and turned, scanning the surrounding treetops for any sign of his former student.

"Orochimaru!" he called out, his voice firm. "Let's end this now!"

A familiar dry, slithery voice responded immediately. "It would be my pleasure."

Orochimaru appeared from the wall directly in front of them, seeming to ooze out of the wall and take solid form before their eyes. His gaze fell on Dumbledore, and the Snake Sannin laughed. "Is this the ally you bring to fight me? An old man even more decrepit than yourself? You must be even more desperate than I believed."

"I'll let you be the judge of how 'decrepit' we are," Sarutobi replied.

"I look forward to it… sensei." Orochimaru settled into his unique taijutsu stance, his face transfixed in a rictus of hate.

oOoOo

It was not easy being a clone. That was the realization that had come to Sarutobi's Shadow Clone after over eight hours of trying to keep Harry Potter safe. A proper Shadow Clone had all of the intelligence and memories of its creator, but only a fraction of the power and even less respect. There was also the incontrovertible fact that clones were stuck with the dirtiest jobs. After all, did jobs get much worse than having to face off against one of Orochimaru's freak shows, with the lives of hundreds of children hanging in the balance?

The clone didn't dare dispel, because there was no way Sarutobi could get here in time. The clone was fairly sure that wherever he was, Sarutobi would be stuck in battle anyway. That meant that the clone had only one job: protect the students of Hogwarts. But it had a pitiful amount of chakra, worth no more than perhaps three large-scale jutsus. Looking at the wizard before it, the clone sensed that in terms of sheer power it was far outmatched. It would have to rely on speed, cunning, and more than a bit of teamwork to defeat Lucius Malfoy.

The Heads of the four Houses spread out slowly, putting a little distance between themselves so that they would have room to dodge or conjure. They kept their wands raised, no one wanting to fire the first curse. Lucius was the first to act, conjuring a shimmering haze into the air that obstructed their vision. Sarutobi's clone knew that the purpose of the spell was to keep them from sending accurate curses towards Lucius. One of the benefits of the first stage of a Curse Seal was increased speed (Sarutobi had learned this from Anko, so the clone knew as well), so Lucius would doubtless begin casting while keeping in motion to avoid counter attacks.

Sure enough, red beams of light began to shoot out almost at random through the hazy cloud. There were so many, however, that the Hogwarts teachers had their hands full casting shield charms to ward away the flying curses. The clone simply dodged, his reflexes more than equal to avoiding attacks coming in a straight line. It was debating the merits of trying a flanking maneuver when Lucius emerged from the cloud, moving much faster than an ordinary man.

His wand sprayed a blast of fire that spread wide enough to consume all of the teachers. They shot concentrated columns of water into the fire, but Lucius seemed to be matching their combined efforts easily. Sarutobi's clone dug into its precious chakra reserves and formed the seals for a large-scale Water-release jutsu. It unleashed the technique with pinpoint accuracy, taking control of the water coming from the wizards' wands and reinforcing it with chakra.

The flames were extinguished, but Lucius took the opportunity to send a Stunner directly at Professor Sprout. The Herbology Professor created a Shield Charm in time, but when Lucius' spell made contact the shield splintered and dissolved, overcome by the sheer power that Lucius commanded. Professor Sprout collapsed to the floor. Sarutobi's clone quickly pulled her away, shoving her through the door to the Great Hall. It caught a glimpse of hundreds of worried faces, as the Professors who weren't useful in a fight tried to keep the students in order.

Relocating Professor Sprout took barely a second, and then Sarutobi's clone was back in the fight. This time it moved immediately to flank Lucius, pushing itself to the limits of its speed. Lucius was sending punishing curses at the remaining three teachers, but they had learned from Professor Sprout's error. All of their Shield Charms were made at an angle, so that even with Lucius' overwhelming magical strength, his spells glanced off to the side when they connected. However, even a partial hit splintered their Shield Charms entirely, requiring them to recast again and again. Snape was fighting admirably, dodging and weaving to minimize the amount of spellcasting he had to do. McGonagall and Flitwick were considerably less spry, but their command of magic had been honed over many decades. They hardly moved at all, but they turned aside spell after spell without flinching or giving ground.

Then McGonagall saw the clone racing into position, and she took precious seconds to perform a complicated bit of Transfiguration. The two nearest suits of armor came to life, hopping from their pedestals and advancing on Lucius with their broadswords raised. The time it took McGonagall to activate the suits of armor cost her dearly, as she wasn't quick to activate a Shield Charm before the next spell hit. The Stunner hit her in the chest, and she dropped to the floor.

Lucius changed direction like a viper, sending curses towards both suits of armor in a split second. They shattered beyond repair, the magic animating them insufficient to stand up to him. But that was the split second the clone needed to cast his second powerful jutsu.

It was a column of fire meant for speed, aimed straight at Lucius' back. Lucius gave a bestial roar before the flames hit, and Sarutobi's clone could feel the wave of power that began to emanate from him, even stronger than before.

_Oh, dear. That can't be good._

The flames engulfed Lucius completely, hissing and crackling as they sought to consume him. But when the technique ended, Lucius was still standing. Only now he was… different.

The jagged black lines covering his skin had been bad enough. But Lucius' new form seemed to have left humanity entirely behind. Lucius' shoulder-length, snow-blond hair had become even longer, extending down as far as the floor. It fanned around him as if caught by a steady breeze, stray tendrils whipping back and forth. There was even a faint shimmer, so it seemed as if his hair was lit by some inner radiance. The pupils of his eyes were completely white, and his skin had become a dark, leathery grey. Two long fangs jutted down from pale lips, which were curved upwards in a demonic smile.

"That tickled," Lucius sneered, his voice deeper and rougher. There was madness in his eyes that had not been there before, and Sarutobi's clone remembered what he knew about a Curse Seal's Second Stage. It granted the user great power, but made them unstable, more prone to vicious and erratic behavior. Lucius had fought almost like a gentleman before, even using Stunners instead of Killing Curses on McGonagall and Sprout. The clone doubted that Lucius would be so merciful now.

Snape took advantage of Lucius' preoccupation with Sarutobi to send a Cutting Curse at Lucius' unprotected back. But Lucius' long mane of hair moved of its own accord, coming together to form a shield against which the Cutting Curse dissipated harmlessly. Lucius' new defense reminded Sarutobi of nothing so much as Gaara of the Sand, the Kazekage's son – Lucius' hair reacted to any incoming threat exactly as Gaara's sand did, protecting him from harm and lashing out for close-to-mid-range attacks.

_Fantastic, _the clone thought wearily. _Now he's magic-resistant, too._

It was time for a difficult decision. The clone didn't want to make it, but he knew there was no other choice. The clone had only enough chakra for one more serious attack, and Professor Snape and Professor Flitwick would soon be overmatched by Lucius' second form.

It was time to call in reinforcements. Even if they were very small, inexperienced reinforcements indeed.

The clone pushed more speed through his legs, stopping by Professor McGonagall and carrying her into the Great Hall. As he placed her gently next to Professor Sprout, Sarutobi searched the crowd for the three faces he wanted to see. There they were: Harry, Ron, and Hermione stood directly in front of their fellow classmates, their wands already in hand. The clone nodded to them.

"Come on, you three. It's time for your final exam."

oOoOo

It seemed that Dumbledore had put quite a bit of thought into how to counter the advantages that shinobi had over wizards. Sarutobi found that out first-hand when Orochimaru targeted the Headmaster first. The Snake Sannin led off by circling the two older men at top speed. He threw kunai from every direction, all of them aimed at Dumbledore rather than Sarutobi. Sarutobi could have tried to intercept them with his own weapons, but he trusted Dumbledore to be up to the challenge. If he couldn't block a few kunai, then frankly it was best that Sarutobi find out now.

But Dumbledore rose to the challenge admirably. Instead of trying to block kunai with a Shield Charm, which couldn't protect him from every direction, he created a shimmering cocoon of magical energy. The kunai disintegrated as soon as they passed the perimeter, falling to the grass in a cloud of metal powder. Next Orochimaru added explosive tags, but Dumbledore's new shield seemed to muffle them, drawing in the energy of the explosion and suppressing it. Sarutobi wondered if Dumbledore's new shield was actually Transfiguring whatever came within its reach, or if that would consume too much energy. It wasn't very important at the moment, however, so Sarutobi stopped trying to analyze Dumbledore's technique and went after Orochimaru.

He pushed himself to match the speed of his former student, and led with punishing flame attacks. The two shinobi were like twin sparks of light, shooting off and colliding around the calm center that was Dumbledore. He waited patiently while they dueled, maintaining his defenses and looking for an opening when their motions were slow enough for him to follow.

Dumbledore got his chance after Orochimaru created a particularly large wall of mud to neutralize Sarutobi's roaring flames. The mixture had become a wave of super-heated mud just as deadly as lava, and both shinobi jumped apart to put distance between themselves and the technique.

Dumbledore waved his wand, and then snapped it toward Orochimaru. All around them, the leaves in the branches of the trees outside of the clearing began to quiver and shake. In a rush of dark green they took to the air, leaving their branches brown and lifeless. The leaves hung suspended for a second, and then turned into a swarm of silver knives.

They shot toward Orochimaru in endless volleys, directed by Albus who was waving his wand like a conductor. It was a beautiful symphony of death, with silver knives flashing through the air as they bore down on Orochimaru. Sarutobi stayed near Dumbledore, ready to protect him if Orochimaru tried to counter-attack. Sarutobi hoped that Orochimaru would try to escape underground – if he did, Sarutobi would immediately send a shockwave through the earth that would send Orochimaru right back into the air. But their opponent was too smart to play into his hands, instead choosing to ward off only those knives that came too close.

He dodged with what seemed like inhuman flexibility, until finally there were no knives left to attack. Without the dense green canopy, the late evening sun shone brighter around the clearing, the barren trees taking on a skeletal look. Orochimaru snarled at them, clearly surprised that the two were putting up such a strong defense. With Dumbledore capable of creating a barrier that enclosed him from all sides, Sarutobi didn't have to worry about protecting his friend. It was like fighting with a Hyuga, only Dumbledore didn't have a blind spot. And his ability to use magic to fight from a distance meant that he didn't need to be as agile as a shinobi. There were perhaps only a few wizards in the world who could wield magic skillfully enough to counter Orochimaru, but Dumbledore was one of them. It also didn't hurt that Sarutobi was very close to Orochimaru's skill level on his own.

Sarutobi was preparing for another attack when he felt a feather-light touch on his mind. _"It's me, Albus," _the Headmaster's voice said in his mind. _"I'm using Legilimency to communicate silently. I have a plan. If you can bring him to close quarters long enough to keep him in one place for a second, I think I can immobilize him._"

Sarutobi had heard of Legilimency, and realized now that it was every bit as valuable as the mind-reading abilities of the Yamanaka clan. Perhaps more, since Legilimency was a skill that any wizard could learn, given enough perseverance and motivation. If he lived through this, Sarutobi promised himself that he would start Harry, Ron, and Hermione learning Legilimency as soon as possible. He thought the word "yes" very loudly, trusting that Dumbledore would know that he understood the plan.

A blast of fire was enough to spur Orochimaru into motion, and then Sarutobi followed up by charging forward. He drew his kunai, causing Orochimaru's eyes to widen in surprise and anticipation. They began a taijutsu duel that went back and forth too quickly for Dumbledore's eyes to follow.

For Sarutobi, though, he knew he couldn't keep this up for very long. Orochimaru had more stamina and, he suspected, more strength. Sarutobi's edge before had rested in the fact that he knew so many powerful techniques, and had the chakra control necessary to counter Orochimaru's moves while conserving his energy. But Dumbledore said he had a plan, so Sarutobi was going to trust him.

Sarutobi lunged in with his kunai, bringing all of his strength to bear against Orochimaru. The Snake Sannin pushed back, both hands supporting his kunai as he tried to force Sarutobi's blade down.

"Your mistake, sensei," Orochimaru sneered. "Unlike you, I don't need my hands to attack."

He opened his mouth, and Sarutobi glimpsed the head of a snake extending from Orochimaru's throat. But at that point Dumbledore already had his wand in the air, and with a single flick all of the silver knives lying abandoned on the floor were Transfigured into coils of gleaming silver wire.

The wires drew taught and flew into the air, homing in on Orochimaru with single-minded intensity. As he was still locked in the contest of strength with Sarutobi he could not dodge in time, nor could he form the hand seals for a technique that might allow him to escape. The wires wrapped around him multiple times, snapping his arms to his sides and binding his legs together. The snake continued to come out of his open mouth, and from the snake's mouth came a sword. Sarutobi recognized it instantly – somehow, Orochimaru had gotten his hands on Kusanagi. The sword cut through the wires and began working to free Orochimaru, but no sooner did one of the wires get cut than it reattached and snapped back in place.

Sarutobi did not need Dumbledore's help to recognize his opportunity. He sent a searing column of fire straight for Orochimaru, and the Snake Sannin let out a horrific scream as he burned. But in the heart of the flames, Orochimaru took on the form of a small white snake, sliding out and away from the wires before they could tighten.

Orochimaru regained his human form, but his pale skin was bubbling like wax, and to his disgust Sarutobi saw that sections of Orochimaru's face were peeling away. "Damn you, you senile old fool!" Orochimaru snapped, his voice now a hissing rasp. "Why won't you die?"

Sarutobi shrugged. "I have powerful friends. You, on the other hand, have nothing but a diseased mind and a soul too dark to stand the light of the sun. Come – it is time for you to die."

Orochimaru laughed wildly, a horrible, wheezing sound coming from burned vocal cords. "Don't get ahead of yourself, sensei. I'll admit, your friend is powerful. But he's old, like you. I have only to wait, growing stronger even as you grow weaker. This world has many opportunities for me, and until now I've been ignoring them in order to focus on killing you. In fact, if my servant has done his work, one of those opportunities is waiting for me as we speak. Good-bye for now, sensei. Don't die until I come to kill you!"

Cackling madly, Orochimaru vanished in a swirl of leaves. Dumbledore went to stand next to Sarutobi, peering around in every direction. "Is he gone?"

"Yes," Sarutobi said, having registered the disappearance of Orochimaru's chakra signature. "Apparently the two of us intimidated him. Honestly, that went better than expected. I was thinking of trying a Sacrifice jutsu on Orochimaru, giving up my life to kill him, but I don't know if I would have been quick enough to catch him. Now he's on the defensive."

"But he'll be back," Dumbledore warned.

"Oh, I know. But at least we have time to regroup, and perhaps win some new allies. Your magical barrier was very effective – perhaps we can teach it to this Order of the Phoenix that I have yet to meet. Make no mistake, Albus… when our paths next cross with Orochimaru's, he will get more than he bargained for. As the next generation grows, they always surpass those that have gone before – that is the Will of Fire, and not even Orochimaru can change that."

Albus bowed his head, looking tired. "I hope you're right."

Sarutobi clapped a hand on the Headmaster's shoulder. "We'll just have to wait and see. Now, should we go rejoin Sirius, Hagrid, and the centaurs? They may need some help disposing of Orochimaru's creatures."

Albus leaned a little on Sarutobi and then straightened, a steely glint in his eyes. "By all means. After meeting their creator, I find I'm not in a very forgiving mood."

oOoOo

Harry had never thought that he might face something more terrifying than Voldemort in Quirrell's body. He still had nightmares of the slitted nostrils and the high, cold voice speaking to him from the back of Quirrell's head. But the monster that Lucius had become made Voldemort's spirit appear weak by comparison. This was evil that was not constrained in another's body, malice that held only a faint vestige of humanity. Harry glanced to either side, reassuring himself that Ron and Hermione were there with him. At least he wouldn't have to face this alone.

Lucius' lip curled up as he saw Sarutobi and the three Gryffindors approaching from the Great Hall. "Decided it was futile, have you?" Lucius said in a rough voice that was more like a snarl. "Come to surrender? Well, you've left it a little too late. I was willing to be nice before. But now I'm not sure why – after all, why not use the power I've been given? Albus has protected his precious Mudbloods for so long… but now I have the means to teach them a lesson. I'll get to you in time, Harry Potter. First I'm going to have a little fun."

That settled it, then. Even if Harry had been considering the possibility, giving himself up wouldn't solve anything. The only thing they could do was fight.

Snape practically hissed when he saw Harry and his friends. "What are you playing at, Sarutobi?" he snapped at the Defence Professor's clone. "You should have brought Potter to safety! I thought that was what you were doing, otherwise I wouldn't have let you go!"

Harry was shocked. Had Snape just expressed… _concern_ for him? He had wanted Harry to escape? It made no sense, especially because Snape was now glaring at him, his expression the exact opposite of concern.

"You underestimate these children, Professor Snape," the clone answered calmly. "Besides, do you think they would consent to run away while their classmates remained vulnerable to this madman?"

"Of course we wouldn't!" Hermione shouted out, unable to restrain herself. Ron and Harry nodded fiercely in agreement. They were all terrified, but they were the only ones with any fighting experience to speak of. This was their place, between innocent people and magic wielded in the service of evil.

"Besides," Harry added, staring at Lucius balefully, "we don't have to beat him. We just need to hold him off long enough for Dumbledore to get here."

Lucius regarded Harry with interest, and then began to chuckle darkly. "You think Dumbledore will save you? The old man's probably dead as we speak! My master, a being whose power you can't even imagine, will not let him live."

Harry felt a strange sense of peace, which allowed him to respond to Lucius' jab with a laugh of his own. "Dumbledore is not dead. If he was, I'd know. We all would. He'll send us all the help we need to defeat you."

"Such loyalty," Lucius sneered. "Yet it will do you little good. Consider yourself lucky, Potter, that you are valuable to my Master. Make sure to watch carefully as I kill your friends. I'll take particular care with the Mudblood brat."

Lucius waved his wand almost lazily at them, and a beam of light much thicker than a normal spell shot towards Hermione. She dove to the side, bringing herself closer to Snape and Flitwick.

Sarutobi looked at Snape with a challenging gaze. "Will you follow my orders?"

Snape looked back angrily. Flitwick snapped at him, the little Charms Professor's voice going even higher because of his agitation. "Is this really the time for a silly rivalry, Severus? We're not exactly in a meeting of the Dueling Club here!"

Snape bowed his head reluctantly. "Command us," he said with an ironic smile.

"Flitwick and Snape, keep us covered with Shield Charms! The rest of you, try to find a spell that can get past his defense. His hair forms a magic-resistant barrier."

"And what will _you_ be doing?' Snape asked pointedly. The clone sighed.

"I'm almost at the limits of my energy, but I'll do what I can to keep him occupied."

As far as Harry could see, Sarutobi's clone was just being modest. As soon as it stopped talking, it became a blur of motion that ringed around Lucius almost too fast to follow. It threw a hail of shuriken from different directions, aiming for his eyes and limbs. But Lucius was well-protected by the mane of hair that surrounded his body like a cloak. Thin tendrils of his hair snapped out, snake-like, to knock shuriken out of the air or make a grab at the elusive clone. But Sarutobi's clone was fighting defensively, realizing that its value was greatest as a distraction. Harry had seen Sarutobi's clones dispel before, and knew that the moment one of Lucius' attacks connected the clone would disappear. That was why it gave Lucius such a wide berth, and concentrated on peppering him with relatively weak attacks from all sides.

Lucius wasn't able to move very far or very fast due to the clone's interference, but his wand was free to cast spells at the wizards waiting before the Great Hall. His curses were easily three times the size of a normal spell, which meant that in terms of power they must be exponentially greater. Harry, Ron, and Hermione couldn't have dodged forever, and their Shield Charms weren't nearly enough to turn aside such vicious magical attacks. That job fell to Snape and Flitwick, who began casting nested Shield Charms, one inside the other, to avert each of Lucius' curses.

As for Harry, Ron, and Hermione, they tried to find some spell that might prove effective against Lucius' seemingly impenetrable defense. Their initial curses merely rebounded off of the shield of hair that rose of its own accord to block any incoming attacks.

Next they tried a combination attack, wherein Ron cast Reducto on the floor at their feet, sending a spray of splintered wood into the air. At the same time Hermione cast the Enlargo charm, turning the small splinters of wood into five-foot-long wooden spears, and Harry finished the attack by using a powerful repelling charm to send the spears hurtling towards Lucius. But Lucius turned his wand on the incoming volley, reducing the weapons to piles of ash with a great blast of fire.

They tried clouds of poisonous gas, spells from multiple directions, and even, out of sheer desperation, Wingardium Leviosa. The closest they came to even inconveniencing Lucius was when they cast Reducto in tandem at the floor beneath his feet. The combined force of their spells blasted a hole in the wooden floor almost four feet deep. But Lucius was nimble enough to jump clear, and after that he was careful to guard against a similar strategy.

Each Shield Charm that Snape and Flitwick cast was weaker than the last, and sweat began to stream down their faces. They were pouring every ounce of magical energy they had into turning aside Lucius' attacks, and it was clear that very soon they would collapse.

When that happened, Harry wasn't sure what he, Ron, and Hermione could do. They could create decent Shield Charms, but not on the level of Snape or Flitwick. Once the Gryffindors were on the defensive, Lucius would have them at his mercy. Sarutobi's clone was doing the best he could, obstructing Lucius' vision and keeping him from moving freely by pelting him with a hail of projectiles. But it just wasn't going to be enough. Something needed to change quickly, or this fight was going to end poorly for all of them.

Just then, a flash of red appeared in the corner of Harry's eye. He chanced a quick glance upward, and saw a familiar shape in the rafters far above Lucius' head. It was Fawkes, and the phoenix was clutching something small and dark in its talons. Harry couldn't see what it was for a second, but then he realized – it was the Sorting Hat! Harry had witnessed first-hand what was hidden in the Sorting Hat, and he was willing to bet that the Sword of Gryffindor could succeed where all their spells had failed.

Harry experienced a burst of elation. Dumbledore had come through for them.

The only question was how to get the sword without Lucius noticing. He could probably blast Fawkes _and_ the hat out of existence if he became aware of their presence. Harry needed some way to keep Lucius occupied.

And he had one. Sarutobi's clone paused for a second behind Harry, whispering quietly so that Lucius couldn't hear. "Can you kill him with that hat?"

"Yeah," Harry murmured back, noting distantly how odd that sounded. "I need a distraction."

"I can do that," the clone said with satisfaction. "But I can only give you one shot. Are you sure about this?"

Harry gulped, but one look at Snape and Flitwick, who were barely standing at this point, convinced him that the risk was worth taking. "Do it."

Sarutobi's clone disappeared again, becoming a shimmer that moved to the opposite side of Lucius. The clone reappeared, his hands blurring to form a series of hand seals. "Now!" he shouted. In the rafters, Fawkes let go of the Sorting Hat. At the same time, Sarutobi unleashed a blast of fire that assumed the form of a dragon, bearing down on Lucius. Lucius' shield of hair became a cocoon, wrapping around him tightly and hardening into a seamless silver shell.

Harry ran like he'd never run before, extending his wand and crying, "_Accio Sorting Hat!_"

The Sorting Hat, which had been falling gently down, became a dark bullet headed straight for Harry. Harry jumped, the heat from Sarutobi's flames washing over his face and sucking the air from his lungs. He extended both hands at the top of his leap, catching the Hat and drawing the Sword of Gryffindor in a single motion.

Harry was barely a yard from Lucius' cocoon, and he threw all of his strength into a desperate lunge. Even as the sword pierced the cocoon, a single whip of hair detached from its surface, solidifying into a spear, and jabbed out towards Harry. He felt a jolt through his arms as his sword connected with something solid beneath the cocoon. An instant later Harry felt pain like he'd never imagined, crying out in agony as Lucius' attack sank deeply into his stomach, just underneath the breastbone. But Harry held on, driving the Sword of Gryffindor deeper with all his might. Lucius' scream joined his own, soon joined by voices that sounded far sweeter to Harry's ears.

"_Harry!_"

Ron and Hermione were by his side in an instant, holding him up as his knees started to buckle. The residual smoke from the dragon flame technique dispersed, revealing that the clone was nowhere to be seen. It must have poured every bit of chakra it possessed into the technique, giving up the remainder of its life to offer Harry the best possible chance.

The cocoon surrounding Lucius began to shrink, and the silver spear through Harry's stomach retracted. They could now see Lucius' face, and the transformation seemed to be reversing itself. His skin was reverting to a pale color, his fangs drew back up inside his mouth, and his hair was once again the greasy, shoulder-length mane that Harry remembered seeing so many months ago in Flourish and Blotts. Harry tried to summon some emotion when saw the sword sticking out of Lucius' chest, but he just felt empty.

Lucius took a step forward, staggered, and fell to one knee. The unthinking hatred had gone out of his eyes, and he looked lost. "Tell… Draco…. I'm sorry…" He fell backward, the sword dislodging from his body as his back hit the floor. Then Lucius Malfoy breathed his last.

Ron was busy wrapping a section of his robes around Harry's midsection, while Harry leaned heavily on Hermione for support. The blood loss was beginning to make him feel woozy.

"I think…" he said, struggling to make his uncooperative lips form the words, "I'll just… go to sleep."

"Don't you dare!" came Flitwick's squeaky voice from somewhere in the distance. "Harry Potter, don't you dare close your eyes! Severus, we must bring him inside to Madam Pomfrey immediately!"

Harry did his best to keep his eyes open, but he regretted it when the all-too-familiar face of Professor Snape came into view. The Potions master wore his usual sneer, but there was something different about it. With darkness at the edge of his vision and his mind in a haze of pain, it took Harry a moment to figure out what it was. Finally it came to him. It was Snape's eyes – they held no malice, only a grave calm and… could that be respect?

"Calm yourself, Filius," came Snape's silky drawl. "Potter's merely enjoying the attention. It's just a flesh wound."

Flitwick was angrier than Harry could ever remember experiencing. "I'd hardly call getting _impaled_ a flesh wound, Severus!"

Snape let out a sardonic chuckle. "It is for a phoenix."

There was a musical cry from the rafters, and as he looked up Harry found Fawkes spiraling down towards him, fiery wings stretched wide. It was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

oOoOo

Sarutobi's hunch had paid off – without Orochimaru to drive them, the Acromantulas had stopped pursuing the centaurs at the edge of the Forest. When Sarutobi and Dumbledore rejoined them, their allies were busy fighting eight of Orochimaru's robed creatures. From the numerous smoking craters littering the ground, it was clear what had happened to the rest.

There had been many casualties already, however, and the last of their attackers were proving to be wilier than their fallen comrades. They used their enhanced speed to keep the centaurs ringed in a close circle, and then fired deadly curses into the crowd. Sirius was doing his best to block these spells, and Hagrid was taking giant swings at their agile assailants with a tree branch as tall as his cottage. The centaurs were loosing arrows constantly, trying to fell the creatures by hitting them in the eyes.

Sarutobi and Dumbledore advanced from the Forest, ready to turn the tide in favor of the defenders. They were both extremely surprised when they were interrupted by a series of _cracks_, followed by two dozen wizards with wands out. Leading them was Fudge, who took in the mob of centaurs and robed monsters with an expression of complete shock.

"What…" he gasped, then his eyes fell on a particular person. "Sirius Black!" Sirius immediately swept the Invisibility Cloak over his shoulders, but Dumbledore knew that the damage had been done. Fudge had no time to ponder the mystery of Sirius disappearing, however, because the robed creature closest to him took the opportunity to try and blast him out of existence. Six Aurors raised Shield Charms at once, and Fudge was hustled to the back of the group.

With the battle lines drawn, there was no more talking. The Aurors and Ministry wizards began casting spells to bring down the attackers, allowing the centaurs to regroup. With the combined efforts of the centaurs, wizards, and Sarutobi, the remainder of the attacking force was soon disposed of. The Ministry wizards paled when Sarutobi informed them about the corpses' unfortunate tendency to explode, but containment charms cast by over twenty wizards and anchored by Dumbledore kept the blasts from harming anyone.

The weary survivors of the fight finally allowed themselves to breathe, while the newcomers from the Ministry surveyed the smoking ruin of the lawn around Hagrid's cottage with astonishment. Now that the danger was over, the Minister pushed forward through the crowd, loudly demanding to speak to Dumbledore.

"What is going on here, Dumbledore?" Fudge practically screeched. "I _demand_ to know what's happening. What were those, those… _things_?"

"I believe they were once wizards," Dumbledore said sadly. "They were sent to attack Hogwarts. I recognized only one of them – it was Augustus Rookwood."

Fudge looked at him blankly. "Augustus? From the Ministry? Preposterous! Although, come to think about it… he hasn't been into work in over a week."

Well, that seemed like good enough proof to Sarutobi, even for someone as stubborn as the Minister. "I suggest you inquire after the whereabouts of former Death Eaters," Professor Sarutobi said to Fudge. "It seems likely that the man who sent these creatures to kill us created them by performing experiments on wizards. It is my belief that he wished to throw people off his trail by choosing only wizards who used to serve Lord Voldemort."

And also to make a statement, Sarutobi thought. By turning Voldermort's former servants into his twisted creatures, Orochimaru was sending the message that there was a new Dark power on the rise. But from the utter confusion on Fudge's face, Sarutobi got the sinking feeling that the message was going to go right past the Minister.

Fudge looked Sarutobi up and down. "Who are you?" he asked bluntly, "and how do you know who sent these things?"

Sarutobi glanced at Dumbledore surreptitiously. He was prepared to tell about his true origin, if the Headmaster thought it would help. Dumbledore shook his head almost imperceptibly. Apparently he didn't believe that Fudge was ready to hear about other universes, and Sarutobi had to agree. The Minister seemed to react quite poorly to new information. But Sarutobi could at least warn Fudge of the danger.

"I am Professor Sarutobi," he said calmly, "hired by Dumbledore to teach Defence Against the Dark Arts. And I know the man who sent these horrors. His name is Orochimaru, and I have fought with him before. He means to make himself into the next Dark Lord, more powerful even than Voldemort."

Fudge flinched back at the name. "Are you… are you insane? _Another_ Dark Lord? It's not possible."

"I have no reason to lie to you," Sarutobi said reasonably. "I only wish to see this country escape the evil that Orochimaru brought to my home."

Fudge appeared to have a thought, and then a sly gleam came into his eyes. Fudge whirled on Dumbledore, and Sarutobi's heart sank. Fudge was dismissing his words out of hand. "What about Sirius Black, eh?" Fudge inquired. "I saw him. He was here! What have you to say to that, Dumbledore?"

"Nothing," Dumbledore sighed, "just that I still firmly believe that Sirius Black is innocent. Cornelius, the threat from Orochimaru is real, and it is not coming from Sirius Black. I implore you to see sense."

"I see exactly what's going on," Fudge shouted, his face growing red. "You try to distract me with crazy tales about new Dark Lords, while all the time you hide Sirius Black from justice! I won't let you get away with this, Dumbledore!"

Fudge whirled on Sarutobi, pointing an accusing finger at him. "As for you, it's clear you're Dumbledore's creature through and through. But I doubt you're accredited to teach magic in this country! Mark my words, Dumbledore, things will be different next year. You've disregarded the Ministry for too long!"

Fudge led his Aurors away, marching close enough to the Forest that they could Disapparate back to the Ministry. Hagrid waved his tree branch at them, muttering darkly.

At that moment Sarutobi experienced the mental shock that came from his Shadow Clone dispelling. Sarutobi was hit with a rush of memories, the entire fight against Lucius condensing into a frenzied whirl of impressions.

It was so obvious, once Sarutobi was able to organize his thoughts and process the new information. It was just like Orochimaru to arrange for his servant to kidnap the Boy Who Lived. Then he could inhabit Harry's body after killing Sarutobi, not only gaining the ability to use wizards' magic but also enjoying Harry's fame and influence into the bargain. The "_opportunity"_ that Orochimaru had mentioned before in the Forest must mean Harry, and it appeared that Harry had foiled Orochimaru's plan by defeating Lucius on his own.

That meant that Sarutobi knew where Orochimaru was going next, and if they hurried…

"Dumbledore!" Sarutobi snapped. "Can you take us to Malfoy Manor? I think that's where Orochimaru is going next!"

Dumbledore didn't ask him how he knew, but simply strode off toward the Forest, where he could use Side-Along Apparition to transport Sarutobi to Malfoy Manor. Sarutobi only hoped that they weren't too late.

oOoOo

Narcissa and Draco were in the dining room when Orochimaru arrived. Draco was asking question after question, and Narcissa was doing her best to answer them without giving away too much. But then Orochimaru appeared before them, his face a burned nightmare of scar tissue.

"Where's Lucius?" he rasped.

"Mother, who is that?" Draco whispered, his eyes riveted on the intruder.

Narcissa smoothed one hand over Draco's hair. "Hush, darling." She turned to Orochimaru, struggling to keep her voice level. "Lucius hasn't come back yet."

Orochimaru cursed violently. "That means he failed," Orochimaru snarled, "and Sarutobi will know where to find me. I must make do with an inferior body for now."

Orochimaru's eyes fell on Draco, and he looked the boy up and down with an appraising gaze. "Hm… strong, healthy. As good a choice as any to become my host while I familiarize myself with this world's magic. And his father survived the Curse Mark, so the whelp must have inherited a bit of that strength of will. Come here, boy!"

Orochimaru gestured imperiously at Draco, who clung a little tighter to his mother's hand.

Narcissa fell to her knees, pure panic in her eyes. "Please… take me instead… leave my boy alone."

Orochimaru looked at her as if she was a piece of lint clinging to his robes. "What use would I have for _your_ body? I would need to switch too soon, and your magic is most likely weak, as well. Just think of this as an honor – your son, or at least his body, will soon rule this world."

He started toward Draco, while Narcissa let out a defiant shriek. "NO! I'll kill you first! _Avada Kedavra_!"

Draco winced and looked away from the green flash, but Orochimaru had already disappeared. He reappeared next to Narcissa, effortlessly holding her wand hand immobile. "I'm disappointed," he whispered. "Why try to fight the inevitable?" Then his other hand flashed up and down again, light glinting off of a silver object.

Draco didn't even have time to scream before the knife buried in his mother's chest. She slumped forward to the floor, a small pool of red spreading on the tiles that had been pristine only a moment before. Draco stared at Orochimaru, transfixed, his mind unable to process what was happening.

Orochimaru came forward again, closing the distance to Malfoy in a single breath and carelessly snapping the wand that Malfoy clutched in his right hand. "Your mother was brave," Orochimaru whispered, reaching out to take Malfoy's hand. "I made her death as painless as I knew how. Now come with me. We must find somewhere safe before I can turn you into my next host."

But when his hand grasped Malfoy's, there was a hissing sound and a smell like burning flesh. Orochimaru snatched his hand back and cradled it against his chest, snarling at Malfoy with pure hatred. "What did you do?" he demanded. "What spell did you cast?"

It was Albus Dumbledore's voice that answered him, making Orochimaru start like a guilty child. "Draco didn't cast any spell. It was his mother, who sacrificed herself while trying to save her son. It appears there is much you don't know about our world."

As Orochimaru turned to face Dumbledore, Sarutobi used the Body-Flicker jutsu to place himself between Orochimaru and Malfoy. "Let's finish what we started, Orochimaru."

Orochimaru snarled. "Not today, sensei. You may have outmaneuvered me, but I have Time on my side. I'll be back, and next time I'll bring this entire world crashing down around your heads." Cackling madly, Orochimaru vanished with a puff of smoke.

Dumbledore sighed. "We really _must_ figure out a way to trap him somewhere he can't slither away from."

"We'll worry about that later," Sarutobi frowned, stepping away so that he could turn and look at Draco. The Malfoy heir was staring at his mother's body, clearly deep in the clutches of shock. Sarutobi performed a quick genjutsu on him, sending the boy into a deep slumber. Sarutobi turned to Dumbledore, who was looking very grave. "What fate awaits this poor child now? And what spell was it that saved him?"

Dumbledore levitated Draco onto the dining room table, and conjured a pillow for his head and a blanket to cover him. "His mother died for him. In our world, that creates a powerful magical protection in the blood. Draco's very touch is now anathema to Orochimaru. It is the same protection that saved Harry Potter when Voldemort tried to kill him all those years ago."

Sarutobi's eyebrows raised, and he regarded Draco's sleeping form with astonishment. "That… complicates things."

"It does indeed," Dumbledore replied.

But Sarutobi already knew what he had to do. "Give him to me," he said to Dumbledore. "I will take him into my custody. He is my responsibility, after all – if I'd never come here, his parents would still be alive."

"You are not at fault," Dumbledore insisted, gently but firmly. "When a tyrant decides to subjugate the innocent, the only one at fault is the tyrant."

"Still," responded Sarutobi, unmoved, "I am responsible for him now. Besides, Orochimaru knows about the blood protection. It is one thing to be narrowly defeated by his old sensei and the greatest wizard of the age. It is entirely another to be defied by a twelve-year-old. He may have had his sights focused on Harry before, but from now on young Draco will be just as much of a target, probably even more."

"So you wish to offer him your protection?"

"More than that," Sarutobi said thoughtfully. "He has led a spoiled, sheltered life. This may be the first time he has ever experienced loss. He will need someone to talk to, someone to help him come to terms with his sorrow. I have lost many close friends and family in my time, and understand his pain more than most. Perhaps, in time, I can help him grow stronger because of this."

Dumbledore looked hopeful, but still unconvinced. "That's a large burden you'd be taking on your shoulders. Draco is very young, but his values and beliefs are set in stone, handed down from his father. I also fear what will happen to him once he gets past this initial shock. I fear that he will be so consumed by hatred for Orochimaru that it will come to define his life. Watching over Draco may be impossible for anyone, even you."

"But Professor Sabby-tabby will not be alone," came a squeaky voice from the direction of the kitchen. The two Hogwarts Professors looked down in astonishment, and came face to face with a House-Elf. The elf's ears were covered with thick bandages, and his round eyes filled with tears as he watched Malfoy sleeping on the table.

"Dobby would have helped Master," Dobby said, his eyes lowered in shame. "But Dobby had to iron his ears, and couldn't hear when the bad man entered the house. Only after Mistress… after Mistress died… did Dobby know there was trouble. But now Dobby is here, and ready to do anything to help Professor." His orb-like eyes shined at them, moisture threatening to fall.

"Dobby," Dumbledore said, sounding astonished. "It is nice to meet you. But I… I can't imagine that Lucius Malfoy or his family was ever kind to their servant. Are you sure you want to do this? It is in my power to grant you your freedom from this family, if you wish."

Dobby's eyes widened at the word "freedom," but then he shook his head violently. "Professor Dumbledore truly is great," he said, awe-struck, "but Dobby wants to help Master Draco. He… he's all alone, except for Professor Sabby-tabby. Dobby wants to help, if he can."

Sarutobi was looking mildly scandalized at Dobby's version of his name, but he passed it off after a fit of coughing. "I would be glad of your help, Dobby," Sarutobi said gravely. "I fear that Draco will have great need of a friend like you in the coming years."

Oblivious to all the plans that were being made regarding his future, Draco Malfoy slept on. His dreams were dark and full of terror, but whenever the nightmares rose up a familiar face appeared and sent them running. Draco ran after his mother's face time and again, only to see her disappear, fading into the darkness just beyond his reach. Somehow, though, just the sight of her made him feel warm and safe. His mother's voice echoed in his mind, and he clung to her words as if they were a buoy in a stormy sea.

"_I'll protect you."_

**End of Part 1**

**A/N: **So Sarutobi's year at Hogwarts comes to a close, and the pace of events is accelerating quickly. Fudge has Sirius and Dumbledore firmly at the top of his blacklist, while Peter Pettigrew is still at large. Orochimaru has escaped as well, and is off to make sure that his position is much stronger before he risks another strike at Hogwarts. Meanwhile, poor Draco's world has been turned upside down, and the only people by his side are Sarutobi and the House-Elf he's only ever abused. One way or another, things are going to get crazy at Hogwarts next year.

Also, if you've been following this story through Part 1, _please_ take a second to review. If you have any questions I'll answer them, and just hearing from people is a huge source of inspiration for me.

Finally, the pattern for the next few chapters will be very different from what I've done so far. I'll be alternating chapters between Malfoy's point of view and another character's point of view, focusing on the events of the summer before everyone goes back to school. If you're curious about the second character, I'll give you a hint: he lives in a place where the fires are only lit for magical purposes :)

See you next time! 


	19. Denial and Acceptance

**A/N: **A decent number of people have been asking me if any new characters from the Naruto universe are going to show up. The answer is no – as much fun as it would be to include some of them, none of the Naruto characters fit into my vision of this story. However, I have started thinking about how things in Konoha would have changed after the Hokage "died." One thing led to another, and I began planning for a sequel to The Professor's Journey. It would be a Harry Potter/Naruto crossover set in Konoha, and it would start after The Professor's Journey ends. Of course, I won't be able to start writing that story until after I finish TPJ.

But I was thinking: since people seem to be interested in the aftermath of the Hokage's disappearance in Konoha, I wouldn't mind writing one-shots that fill in some of the blanks. Whenever I finish a one-shot I could announce it in an author's note for a chapter, and then send the one-shot to anyone who reviews with a valid PM address. That way anyone who wants to can find out what's been happening in Konoha, and I get more reviews!

I know that's a pretty shameless bribe, but I'm really not trying to pressure anyone into reviewing. My goal isn't to make anyone mad, just to accommodate people if they want to find out what's changed in Konoha before this story ends. Let me know if that sounds like a good deal that you'd be interested in, or if I should be ashamed of myself for even thinking about bribing you ;)

Now back to the story!

**Disclaimer: **I own neither Harry Potter nor Naruto

**Part 2**

**Chapter 18: Denial and Acceptance**

Draco vaguely remembered crying at the funeral of his grandfather, Abraxis Malfoy. The silver-haired patriarch of the Malfoy family had never been particularly close to Draco, merely checking in every now and again to make sure that his grandson was growing into a proper heir to continue the Malfoy line. Nevertheless, when six-year-old Draco had watched his grandfather's coffin enter the earth, his tears had flown freely.

His father, standing upright with eyes as dry as desert sand, reprimanded him immediately. "_We are Malfoys, son. We do not share our grief with others; it is for ourselves alone. Do your duty without showing weakness._"

Draco had taken that lesson to heart, and in time it became more than parental advice – it became a part of him. Perhaps the only person who had ever seen Draco cry after that day was his mother, and that only once. So when the coffin containing Draco's parents was lowered into the ground, guided by Draco's wand and Draco's will, he didn't shed a single tear.

His throat was tight and his left hand trembled slightly, hidden in the folds of his robes, but Draco's eyes were bone dry. He was a Malfoy, the _only_ Malfoy, and he would not disgrace his parents by showing weakness now.

The coffin in which his parents lay was made of burnished gold and encrusted with jewels – Draco had been forced to cast several Lightening charms before he could lift it with _Wingardium Leviosa_. The top of the coffin was clear glass, allowing Draco to see his parents' faces one last time before they vanished into the earth. They looked calm… peaceful, even. That was right, and proper. Not even death should rob a Malfoy of his dignity.

Although Draco's part in the funeral technically ended once his parents were safely interred in the ground, in reality his duties had only just begun. Lucius was – _had been_, Malfoy reminded himself bitterly – one of the most influential wizards in Britain, and there were over one hundred wizards and witches attending his funeral, all intending to honor his memory and pay their condolences to his only son.

At the moment they were all gathered around the open grave, a somber sea of black dress robes and lacy handkerchiefs held delicately to their faces to wipe away polite tears. Draco knew better than to believe any of these shows of emotion, however. His father had been feared, not loved. Lucius had preferred it that way, and had taught Draco to prefer it, too.

It actually made it easier for Draco to suppress his grief, seeing all of these witches and wizards feigning sadness for propriety's sake. Of course he felt no anger towards them – they had their part to play, and he had his. He was the gracious host, accepting their condolences with gravity and poise.

Once the ceremony was over, Draco walked a little way away from the grave and waited for people to approach him. He shook their hands firmly and accepted their good wishes. Many were his classmates, among them Crabbe and Goyle with their fathers, and other prominent Slytherins such as Theodore Nott, Daphne Greengrass, and Pansy Parkinson. The children looked away from Draco, most awkward and unsure of what to say. It was hard for Draco to look them in the eye. For now, at least, he had nothing to say to them.

Draco tried to distract himself from looking back at his parents' grave by scanning the approaching wizards and witches, doing his best to determine what their motives were for attending the funeral. The Slytherin students were there because their parents made them, and their parents came because they had been close with Lucius. But many wizards were only there to satisfy propriety. Some, Draco was willing to bet, were sizing him up, wondering if the son could possibly take up Lucius' leadership positions when he came of age. According to Lucius' will, all of the Malfoy inheritance was to go to Draco – once Draco turned seventeen, everything would be his. The mansion, the gold, and the responsibility. Many of the wizards here had Lucius to thank for their positions, and they wanted to know if Draco would be as reliable as his father, or if they would no longer have a benefactor.

It wasn't until Draco had shaken hands with almost everyone at the funeral that he recognized the wizard puttering in the background. It was Cornelius Fudge. The Minister of Magic kept glancing at him, clearly wanting to speak with him, but hesitated whenever another witch or wizard moved toward Draco in order to share their condolences. Draco had seen Fudge with his father several times, and he knew enough about politics to realize that Fudge must be almost as dismayed at this funeral as Draco himself.

Draco's father had been one of Fudge's primary supporters, and with him gone the Minister was bound to be feeling a little insecure. Draco caught the Minister's eye and gestured off to the side a little, away from the bustling crowd of mourners. Fudge's eyes widened, and he nodded appreciatively, even a little eagerly. Draco moved away, politely excusing himself and taking an indirect path towards the Minister.

There was a rushing in his veins that was almost like the feeling Draco experienced before playing Quidditch. He was alone in the harsh world of Wizarding politics, without his father to catch him if he made a mistake. Draco had nothing but the lessons he'd been taught, yet the future of the Malfoy line rested on his shoulders. He silently promised his parents that he would make them proud.

"Minister," Draco began, sticking his hand out and shaking Fudge's hand firmly. "Thank you for coming. I know my parents would be honored to see you here."

Fudge seemed a little taken aback by Draco's poise, and fiddled with his bowler hat for a second before he responded. "My dear boy… such a tragedy… of course I had to come, to pay my respects…"

Draco inclined his head gratefully, his voice oozing sincerity. "That means more to me than you know, Minister. My father always held you in high esteem."

Fudge was already looking slightly happier, and Draco knew it was because he felt more secure that Draco would not forget about him when he came into his parents' money. Lucius had been right – people were simple, as long as you took the time to determine their motives.

"Words cannot express how sorry I am about your parents," Fudge said, drawing himself up a little straighter. "It must have been so hard for you."

That last sentence made Draco pause. The last month had been like a nightmare, except that Draco had yet to wake up. The week after his mother's death was still a blur; Draco didn't remember much except for Dobby's near-constant presence. The House-Elf had fed him and cleaned his room, leaving quietly whenever Draco gave in to the howling grief.

After a week that had seemed to last an eternity, Draco had mastered himself enough to rejoin the world of the living. But that was when Professor Sarutobi told Draco the news about his father.

The Defence Professor had sat him down, his eyes grave and sad, and told Draco that his father had also been murdered. That was all Draco remembered from that day – he had fainted immediately after, his newly regained self-control shattering in the face of this new tragedy.

In the weeks that followed, Draco felt like a ghost trapped in a mortal world. Food had no taste, and his chest ached constantly as if someone had wrapped iron chains around his heart and squeezed. Without Dobby's gentle, insistent badgering, Draco might not have bothered to eat at all. As it was, he missed the last weeks of school, his exams passing by without a second thought.

There were two things that had brought Draco out of his self-destructive spiral of grief. The first was his parents' approaching funeral – Draco knew it was his duty to attend the service and uphold the Malfoy name. But not even his father's voice telling him that he had a responsibility as a Malfoy would have been enough; at least, not without the second cause.

The second cause was the all-consuming rage that slowly came to replace Draco's grief. The rage burned hotter than any fire, and its focus was the face that haunted Draco every night in his dreams. It was a pale face, skin charred and cracked from fire, with yellow eyes and slitted pupils like a snake. Thanks to Sarutobi, he finally had a name to attach to the face: _Orochimaru_. Just thinking the name made Draco's blood boil and the edges of his vision tinge with red. A name was all that Sarutobi had given him, along with a promise to reveal the full story when Draco was prepared to face the grim truth.

"Tell me when you are ready to learn more," Sarutobi had said, "and I will share what I know."

Draco had not been ready then. He would think of his mother, collapsing over the handle of a bloody knife, and he would be too scared. But now, after saying his final goodbyes and putting his parents to rest at last, he knew that he would never again allow his fear to overcome his desire for vengeance. All that was left was to see his parents' funeral through to the end, and then Sarutobi would answer all of his questions. That meant that the only thing standing between Draco and the truth was his responsibility to send off his guests like a true Malfoy, starting with Cornelius Fudge.

"It was very hard," Draco admitted, almost surprising himself with how even his voice sounded. "Sometimes I thought it was too hard, that I couldn't bear it alone. But I want to make my father and mother proud of me. They're still with me, even if I can't speak with them."

Even though Draco did believe what he was saying, the small tear that appeared in the corner of Fudge's eye in response to Draco's words couldn't help but make him feel contemptuous. This was a powerful man, supposedly the most powerful in Wizarding Britain, yet he had no shield against sentiment. Now that he was seeing Fudge for himself, Draco was not surprised that the Minister had relied so heavily on Lucius for guidance.

Fudge started to look a little uneasy, coughing apologetically several times before speaking. Draco tensed, sensing from Fudge's demeanor that whatever was coming would be a topic of great importance for the Minister.

"I know this is hard to talk about…" the Minister stammered, "but have you considered… where you'll live? Your closest relative is Andromeda Tonks, but I understand that your father had some… hesitations… about Andromenda's lifestyle…"

_You mean she's a blood traitor who chose a Muggle over her own kind, and let her daughter grow up practically a savage? _Draco had never met his aunt or his older cousin, Nymphadora, but he had heard his father and mother talk about the family often enough to know exactly how they felt.

"That's right, Minister," Draco said. "I don't think my father would approve of my living with them."

"Then do you have a family that you would like to live with? This isn't, ah… normally a decision that a child would make, but as the Minister of Magic, I have a certain, er… pull, you know…"

Draco interpreted this to mean that Fudge was trying to bribe him by allowing him some say in his choice of foster homes. If Draco was allowed to choose which family to stay with until he came of age, he would certainly be indebted to Fudge for giving him that freedom of choice.

"That is extremely kind of you, Minister," said Draco, playing for time. He had a strong, almost visceral distaste for the thought of going to live with any of his relatives. The closest ones he had were blood traitors, and anyway it seemed like betraying his parents' memories to move in with another family immediately after their funeral. Besides, there was only one person who could give Draco information about Orochimaru, and that was Professor Sarutobi. For now, Draco knew exactly where he wanted to be, and it wasn't with his relatives. He squared his shoulders and faced Fudge, trying to project sincerity tinged with hesitation. "But I was hoping that I could, well… put off that decision for a while. It wouldn't feel right… like I was trying to replace them."

He allowed some of his true grief to show, just for a moment.

"I can see how you might feel that way," Fudge said slowly, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. "But you must live somewhere, no?"

"I stayed with Professor Sarutobi while I was… _sick_," Draco said, not wanting to be more specific about the zombie-like state of depression that had threatened to overwhelm him. "He's the person most qualified to keep me safe, if whoever killed my parents tries to come back. And my House-Elf Dobby takes care of me. I know it's not a long-term situation, but I'd like to stay with the Professor for a while longer."

_Until Orochimaru is screaming in agony and cursing the day he ever thought about killing a Malfoy, _Draco amended silently. But then he noticed that Fudge was beginning to look distinctly alarmed.

"Minister?" Draco asked curiously. "Is something wrong?"

"No… well, that is…" Fudge didn't meet Draco's eyes, a sure sign that he was thinking about something that he didn't want to share with Draco. "But, er, if it's safety you're worried about, I assure you that the Ministry will be well able to protect you. I'll personally assign Aurors to watch over you wherever you decide to stay."

Draco focused hard on the Minister, trying to read past his words and understand motives, just as his father had always told him to do. He had never been good enough at this skill to satisfy his father, but now the stakes were far higher than his father's approval and Draco knew he wouldn't fail.

"Professor Sarutobi saved my life, Professor," Draco said. "I watched my mother die-" his voice cracked a bit in spite of himself, "-and the murderer would have killed me too if the Headmaster and Professor Sarutobi hadn't stopped him. I'd rather have him protect me than Aurors I don't know. It's not forever, just until I decide where I should live until I come of age."

But this speech didn't reassure Fudge; on the contrary, he looked even more alarmed. Draco had the alarming impression that the Minister was dismissing what he was saying without even really listening, and had been almost as soon as he'd heard Dumbledore's name. Draco knew that whatever was going on, it had to do with how Fudge felt about Professor Sarutobi and the Headmaster. But from the way Fudge _hemmed_ and _hawed_ and chose his words with care, Draco knew that whatever the Minister told him wouldn't be the full story.

"I know you want to be safe, Draco – we all want that. But Professor Sarutobi is… well, he's Dumbledore's man, and although I'm not sure I should tell you this, I'm not sure Dumbledore has your best interests at heart. You know how your father felt about Dumbledore, correct?"

Of course Draco knew how his father felt about Dumbledore. He also knew what Lucius had thought of Fudge. And Draco knew _bloody well _that it had not been the Ministry that kept Orochimaru from stealing Draco's body and wearing it like a cloak – Draco had figured out that much of the terrifying man's intentions from what Sarutobi had said, and from what he remembered of the night his mother died. No, it had been Professor Dumbledore and Professor Sarutobi who had saved him from a fate much, much worse than death. Even if Professor Dumbledore was a wrong-headed Muggle-lover, he had saved Draco's life. A Malfoy never forgot his debts.

This must be some kind of political struggle, and Fudge was setting himself against Dumbledore. Now Fudge was worried that he would lose his benefactor's son to Dumbledore's influence. Well, Draco wasn't about to allow Fudge's transparent maneuvering to get in the way of avenging his parents. If it was a question of taking sides, Draco knew exactly which one he wanted to be on – he would take the Headmaster and Professor Sarutobi over Fudge in the blink of an eye, even if they _were_ Muggle-lovers and sentimental old men. Not even Lucius had denied that Dumbledore had power, and Draco _needed_ power on his side. Fudge wasn't going to mess this up for him. However, if Draco played his cards right, he could come away from this with the support of _both_ the Minister and Dumbledore – it would be a delicate dance, but Draco knew the steps.

"I'm aware of how my father felt, Minister," Draco said, lowering his voice slightly and looking around quickly, as if making sure that no one was listening. Fudge leaned in a little, his eyes widening, waiting for Draco to go on. "My father didn't trust Dumbledore, and neither do I. But he knew how to _use_ Dumbledore. I _need_ Professor Sarutobi, even though I don't trust him. Don't worry, Minister: staying with him for a while won't make me forget who my true friends are."

Malfoy tried to replicate the smile that he had seen so often on his father's face, the one that bared his teeth and didn't reach his eyes. It was a smile for threatening with.

"And my _true_ friends wouldn't take this choice away from me. If anyone tries to rush my decision, I would be _very_ angry. And I would not forget."

That translated to: "don't take charge and send me packing to any of my relatives, or else I will make it my personal mission to see that you regret it."

Fudge was looking very dismayed at the thought of Draco revoking the support he had always received from Lucius. "Draco, what you must understand is that you're only a child-"

"Not just a child," Draco cut in smoothly. "A Malfoy. That means that I won't be manipulated, not even by you, Minister, and certainly not by Dumbledore." Draco drew himself up to his full height, aware that as intimidating gestures went, his was falling a little, well… _short_. But it didn't matter if it looked a little funny, as long as it worked. "I just need time, Minister. I won't forget who I am."

"Then let's talk again when you're ready," Fudge said, looking at Draco as if seeing him for the first time. "Perhaps it's forward of me to say so, but your parents would be proud to see you. You're growing more like your father every day. Now, about our next meeting… the end of the summer should work well, no? And, Draco…" he trailed off, a cunning light coming into his beady eyes. "If you happen to see or hear anything… _suspicious_, while staying with Professor Sarutobi, you will make sure to inform me, all right? The Ministry always rewards initiative and loyalty."

Draco hid a grin. This was very good – if Fudge thought of him as more than a traumatized child who needed to be controlled for his own good, then the Minister wouldn't do too much to get in the way of his plans. For the summer, at least, Draco could concentrate on figuring out the truth, before he had to worry about complications like the Minister's apparent distrust of Dumbledore. Draco stuck out his hand solemnly, meeting the Minister's eyes. "I will _absolutely_ keep my eyes and ears open, Minister. Thank you, as always, for your staunch support of my family. I will not forget your kindness – I give you my word as a Malfoy."

As Draco walked away, he realized that he hadn't felt an urge to look towards his parents' grave during that entire conversation. His grief was still there, coiled up inside the secret places in his heart, but while he had been talking to Fudge the sadness receded, replaced by focus and a controlled exhilaration.

That was the key – he had to stay busy and keep working toward his goal. He'd had his fill of tears… just like his father had taught him, they were an indulgence, a weakness that benefited no one. Draco made a pact with himself as he walked back to the Malfoy Manor, where Dobby was waiting to transport him back to Professor Sarutobi's cottage. He swore to himself, there in the graveyard with his parents and ancestors for generations looking on, that he would not cry again while Orochimaru was still alive.

oOoOo

"Thank you for coming so promptly, Hiruzen." Albus waved the Hokage inside, giving his wand a lazy flick and conjuring an armchair and a small table laden with a pot of tea, a tin of sweets, and two delicate china cups. Hiruzen sank into the armchair with a satisfied sigh. There were undeniable benefits to having a wizard for a friend.

"No need for thanks, Albus – I understand the need for haste perfectly well. The funeral went better than expected, or so my clone reports. Young Draco bid farewell to his parents with courage and honor. Although it is too soon to say for sure, he seems to have moved beyond the first stage of his grief."

"I'm glad to hear it." Dumbledore levitated the teapot and poured himself a cup, then levitated the cup across the desk to his waiting hand. "When I heard your reports, I worried that he might not recover at all. Such a strain on a young mind can have effects that last well into adulthood."

Sarutobi had kept Dumbledore well informed about Draco's condition in the month after his parents' deaths, but the Headmaster did not know more than the general picture. Sarutobi had been keeping an almost 24-hour watch on Draco with the help of his Shadow Clones, and it was quite possible that he knew more about the young boy's state of mind than Draco did himself.

"There will of course be lasting effects," Sarutobi said, shaking his head. "Draco's life was torn apart, and it inflicted a grievous wound on his very soul. At first the pain was too much to bear and still function – now the pain has ebbed somewhat. The scars that remain are still raw, and will be for years to come. Yet Draco _is_ healing, slowly but surely, and already he is finding strength he did not possess before."

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow. "Really? What kind of strength do you mean?"

"Fudge was at the funeral." Sarutobi saw Dumbledore's slight wince, though no one less adept at reading the smallest changes in facial features would have noticed it. "It was only to be expected that he would check in on Draco, since Lucius was the Minister's primary supporter. My Shadow Clone reports that Draco played the Minister like a harp – not only did Draco get Fudge to agree to let him stay with me for the summer, he did it without making Fudge feel threatened. The boy has a keen political mind and a knack for maneuvering to his advantage; if his magical potential is anywhere near that level, he will make an excellent student."

Dumbledore hesitated, coughing apologetically. "I'm not sure that a talent for deception is something I would necessarily want to _encourage_, Hiruzen. When you said you would take Malfoy in hand, I thought you were thinking more in terms of teaching him about courage, loyalty, and honor."

"I have no intention of turning that boy into a Gryffindor," Sarutobi said firmly, though politely. "Each warrior should develop his or her own strengths into a unique fighting style, and trying to make Draco more like Harry would be a disservice to both of them. In my village we have a phrase to describe what you refer to as a 'talent for deception' – we call it 'seeing underneath the underneath.' It is perhaps the most important quality that separates a mediocre shinobi from a great shinobi, and I did not see Draco exhibit an aptitude for it until very recently. I have no doubt that his drive to avenge his parents is responsible for uncovering talents he never knew he possessed. I saw something like that happen to a young man who suffered through a similar experience to young Draco's – however, Draco is impressing me with his ability to see underneath the surface of things, and then see still deeper. Sasuke's perception was always clouded after his family died."

Thinking of Sasuke made Sarutobi's heart feel even heavier. He wondered briefly how the young Uchiha was doing, but forced his mind away from that path before he could get lost in useless speculation about whether Konoha could have survived the invasion.

"I trust your judgment," Dumbledore said immediately, "I'm just worried that Draco might turn down a darker path than the one you wish to set him upon."

And wouldn't that be a terrible irony. Sarutobi turns to teaching once again, only to create yet another monster using his skills to fulfill a tainted goal. No, this time Sarutobi knew the pitfalls, and he would not let his sympathy for the orphaned Malfoy blind him to the risk he ran by teaching the boy.

Sarutobi took a sip of tea, settling his wayward thoughts. "Your fears are astute and perfectly valid," he said at last, nodding to Dumbledore. "And I will not chance setting another Dark Lord loose in your world – I've already done far too much damage already with Orochimaru. I have several… safeguards… in mind to prevent such an unfavorable outcome. Some of them will require your aid, in fact."

Dumbledore looked relieved to hear that Sarutobi had a plan. "I am at your service."

"Let me just say," Sarutobi added, "that I have a great deal of hope for Mr. Malfoy. Only a few weeks ago I feared that he'd entirely lost the will to live. Dobby fed him, washed him, changed his clothes-"

Dumbledore started so suddenly that Sarutobi thought there must be some threat, so he whirled around and then felt foolish when he saw nothing even remotely dangerous.

"I'm sorry," said Dumbledore, "but did you say that Dobby changed Draco's clothes?"

Sarutobi was confused. "Yes, I did… I don't understand – is that against Wizarding law or custom? I assumed that as he was a servant, Dobby was used to helping Draco with all manner of tasks."

"It's not against the law, exactly," Dumbledore said, his eyes starting to twinkle. "But most House-Elves never handle their masters' clothing directly. It leads to… complications. I am beginning to believe that Dobby is truly extraordinary, even by the standards of an already extraordinary race. Let's get back on topic, however. I agree with you that Draco's current state of mind is very promising, even if his apparent facility with manipulating people makes me slightly uneasy. It is even more impressive that Draco has managed to master himself after suffering a blow that would have destroyed many a weaker person. I look forward to seeing what he will become under your tutelage."

Sarutobi bowed his head, graciously accepting the compliment. "It is this summer and the upcoming school year that will be the most critical. And speaking of the school year, what will be Draco's reception? Do the other students know about his situation?"

Dumbledore shook his head. "Many know that Draco is now an orphan, but that is all. Only Harry, Ron, and Hermione know that the monster that attacked the school was in fact Lucius Malfoy. I have spoken with them, as well as the four Professors who also fought Lucius, and they understand the need for secrecy. It will be hard enough for Draco without the truth getting out, and I don't want the other students viewing him with hatred or fear because of his father's actions."

"I agree with your decision," Sarutobi said after some consideration. "Draco should not suffer for his father's having the bad luck to come to Orochimaru's attention."

The two men sat in silence for a moment, savoring their tea. But there was something unresolved in the air between them, and the tension grew. At last, Sarutobi had to ask what was really on his mind.

"Will I still be teaching at Hogwarts during the upcoming year?"

Dumbledore's expression said it all, and Sarutobi experienced a pang of loss that surprised him with its strength. He would miss the bright, eager young faces in his classroom.

"I'm afraid not," Dumbledore said finally. "The Minister has been demanding your accreditation, which of course does not exist. He has submitted a candidate for the Defence Against the Dark Arts post, and I have no choice but to accept his decision. Dolores Umbridge is not likely to be as effective a teacher as you, but it would not be wise to thwart the Minister at this time."

"Why not?" Sarutobi's blunt question made Dumbledore wince. "Why not stand up to the Minister? I can see immediately that his power is pitiful compared to yours. I can also see that he is a man who only responds to a superior power. Why not make it clear to him that a fight with you is one he cannot hope to win? Kami, if you don't want to confront him, I'd be happy to! One private… _discussion_… with the Minister, and I guarantee he won't interfere with you again!"

Dumbledore's eyes seemed to see past Sarutobi, and for a moment he looked ancient and infinitely frail. "I've had my fill of trying to fix the world by wielding power," he whispered at last. Then his back straightened, and his voice gained strength. "I once thought that the problems I saw around me were opportunities just waiting for me to come along and put them right. But I paid the price for my arrogance, and I will not make the same mistake again. The Minister and I may differ on many points, but I will not interfere with his job unless his actions directly endanger someone under my protection. That means that I must accept Dolores Umbridge, as well as the Dementors that Fudge means to guard the school. As for you, Hiruzen… I was hoping I could persuade you to see this as an opportunity."

"I think I see where you're going with this," Sarutobi said unhappily. "I'm to hunt for Orochimaru, correct?"

Dumbledore had the grace to look ashamed, since he was asking Sarutobi to perform such a difficult task. "I confess that was my hope. I know you will not want to leave any of your students, particularly the ones you have been training, but I think that this time we cannot wait for Orochimaru to bring the fight to us. If you can find him before he has a chance to settle in somewhere and begin assembling his forces, we will be more prepared for the next fight."

"I'll do my best," Sarutobi promised. "It will be like looking for a needle in a haystack, or it would be if the needle could transform into a piece of hay. But you're right – this is our chance to be proactive and take the fight to Orochimaru."

"There was something else I hoped you could do," Dumbledore said a second later. "You'll be traveling all over Europe, which means you'll be close to many members of the Order of the Phoenix. If you could visit them, talk to them, and teach them a little about how Orochimaru thinks and how he fights, it might go a long way towards evening the field."

Sarutobi beamed. This, at least, was a valuable task he could perform, and one that no one else in the Wizarding World (except perhaps Dumbledore) was qualified to carry out. He would still be teaching, then, but his students would be adults, willing to believe that there was evil in the world and still determined to fight it. Although leaving Hogwarts meant leaving his young trainees behind, he would move on to responsibilities every bit as important.

_Genin become chunin, and leave their instructors behind, _Sarutobi thought sadly. _Why did you ever think this would be any different?_

"I think this plan is for the best," said Sarutobi with a hint of regret. "I won't deny it is a prospect that holds small comfort for me, but this has never been about satisfying my selfish desire to teach. I'll depart as soon as the summer ends, which means that Draco and the others have a busy few months in store. They'll be ready to defend themselves and other by the time I leave, or I will be _very_ disappointed – by which I mean that they will deeply regret it."

Professor Dumbledore looked relieved that Sarutobi had accepted his plan, and grateful that it hadn't taken much persuasion. "I'm not sending you out alone. I'm going to assign a member of the Order of the Phoenix with you as a guide and a contact to establish your credentials with the rest of the Order. His name is Remus Lupin, and I trust you'll find him to be more than capable of fending off any Dark Magic you might encounter along your path."

"I look forward to meeting him," Sarutobi said, getting up from his chair. "My thanks for your hospitality, Albus, but I'm afraid I must be going. There's a spoiled orphan waiting for me who is about to become a warrior."

Albus' return smile was more than a little sad. "Ah. The work begins."

"It does indeed."

**A/N: **Sad news, everyone. I'm working for the rest of the summer and then I start my thesis, so my writing time will be fairly limited for at least six months or so. But I'll keep trucking along, because I love this story too much to let it rest. Next time we head to Durmstrang, where we'll make the acquaintance of one Viktor Krum. I'm excited to try and create a Durmstrang that feels just as real as Hogwarts, and I hope I do justice to a character that never saw much development in canon, but I always thought had the potential to be great. I'm as much of a fan of Krum as Ron is, and I hope that you'll come to share my opinion, even if you don't already. See you next time!


	20. Evil Stirring

**A/N: **Hello everyone! I'm back, and I promise not to let another year go by before I update! This past year has been a little crazy, but now I've finished my senior thesis and I'm heading out into the real world, where I intend to write, write, and write some more. Once the summer actually begins, I'll be following an official schedule of one update per week, although I will be alternating between stories, and sometimes I'll probably update more than once per week (if you were following me last summer, then you know that when the ideas are flowing, I can update fairly fast). So anyway, please don't lose faith in me, because there's a lot left to do!

A quick word before we start off: as you know, the next year will combine elements from Year Three and Year Five of canon, since Umbridge AND the Dementors are going to be mucking things up at Hogwarts. What you should also keep in mind is that, because Peter Pettigrew escaped a year earlier, Voldemort is also going to kickstart his plans earlier. Which means that the next part will _also_ include some elements from Year Four in canon, some of which will be revealed or hinted at in this chapter. So basically, things are getting crazy, even if the pace of the summer seems a bit slow. Don't worry – things will heat up soon enough.

Finally, I am happy to announce the arrival of the first Naruto One-Shot showing the changes that happen in Konoha as a result of Sarutobi's "death." I've got a basic plot outlined and some ideas that are firing up my imagination, but so far all I've written is the teaser to set the stage. If you'd like to read this one-shot, then simply review with a valid PM address and I'll send it to you. If you can't/don't want to review, don't despair – you'll just have to wait until I start posting this as its own story.

Now on with the show!

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Harry Potter or Naruto

**Chapter 19: Evil Stirring**

Harry dreamt, and knew he was dreaming. He was sitting in an armchair in a richly furnished room, though a thick layer of dust coated the surfaces he could see. A fire burned hungrily in a stone fireplace, cutting through the chill. Harry tried to move his head to look around, but found that he couldn't. The eyes he was seeing with were not his own, nor was the body he seemed to inhabit.

There was a shuffling sound, and a form entered Harry's field of vision. It was a man he'd never seen before, who halted before the armchair and sank to his knees, bowing deeply.

"My Lord," he said reverently. "I have inspected the house and grounds – we are alone."

He raised his head, giving Harry a clear view of his face for the first time. The man was short and squat, and his eyes had a shifty, desperate tint. His fingers twitched periodically, and with his prominent buck teeth he reminded Harry of nothing so much as a rat.

"Well done, Wormtail," said a bone-chilling voice, high and shrill. It took Harry a second to realize that the voice seemed to come from his own mouth. It was a strange sensation, to be sure. But strange things happened in dreams, and Harry was curious enough to want this one to continue. This dream was oddly detailed, and he felt certain that these two men were important. From the wand in Wormtail's hand, they were definitely wizards, and their desire for secrecy set Harry's warning bells ringing.

The voice continued, and something in its tone, something dark and violent, tugged at Harry's memory. "Nagini is hunting somewhere on the grounds. When she returns, you will need to milk her again. I require another draft of the potion, for the journey here has wearied me."

"Yes, Master," Wormtail said, bowing again. "I will serve to the utmost of my ability."

"As you have," the voice agreed, sounding amused. "You showed intelligence in searching me out, even if the decision was based entirely on your own cowardice." The voice ignored Wormtail's sputtered protest. "I am also impressed by your initiative in finding the woman from the Ministry. Bertha Jorkins had information that will prove very useful. It's a pity her mind broke under the strain; we could perhaps have learned even more from her. But now, at least, it is only a matter of time before my most loyal servant is once again at my side."

"_I'm_ loyal," Wormtail said sullenly, shifting slightly on a woven rug that was dusty and discolored with age. "I don't see why we need to wait. With the information Bertha gave us, we could set the plan in motion immediately. _I _could do it easily. Why wait?"

The voice grew colder, sharper. "Be careful, Wormtail. Initiative is good, but only in moderation. You have rendered me faithful service, and you shall be rewarded. But never believe that you are the only person of value to me. Everyone has his part to play, and every part has its proper time. I have waited eleven years, and I will not allow undue haste to ruin my plans now. Hogwarts has never been more vulnerable, but its protections remain strong – overcoming them will take cunning and skill the likes of which you do not possess."

If he had been in his own body, Harry would have gasped. These two were planning an attack on Hogwarts! He calmed himself with the mental exercises he'd been practicing for the past year, and focused on studying this "Wormtail" fellow as closely as possible. When he woke up from this dream, he would need to record as much information as he could so that he could report to Sarutobi and Dumbledore. Harry only wished he could get a look at the person whose eyes he was seeing through, since he was clearly the one in charge of this plan.

Wormtail bowed so low his head touched the floor. "O-of course, My Lord. It shall be as you wish."

"Quite," the voice responded drily. Then Harry felt the body he inhabited shift slightly as if shocked.

The voice spoke a different language now, one that used sibilant hissing instead of words, but Harry found that he could understand the meaning perfectly.

"_What is this? A Muggle is standing outside?_"

Wormtail, on the other hand, looked completely confused. "M-my Lord?"

"Ah, Wormtail, it appears we have a guest," the voice said, reverting to English and recovering its earlier composure. "According to Nagini, an old Muggle is standing outside the door, listening to every word we say. Go open the door; invite him in."

Wormtail scrambled to his feet, and left Harry's line of sight to reach the door. There was a _creak_, and then a gruff voice spoke out, unable to hide a quaver of fear.

"You two are trespassing on private property. L-leave before I call the police!"

"Oh, I'm afraid the Muggle police would not be of much help to you," the voice said. Then, magically, the armchair swiveled, and Harry got his first and last glimpse of the poor Muggle who had stumbled on this clandestine meeting. He had straggly white hair, a walking cane supporting an injured leg, and a rough, weather-beaten face that contorted with horror at the sight of whatever was in the chair.

The voice spoke triumphantly, the words ringing with an undercurrent of savage glee. "_Avada Kedavra!_"

Those words triggered a memory, and suddenly he knew where he had heard the voice before. Deep in the bowels of Hogwarts, after overcoming the obstacles set by the Professors to protect the Sorceror's Stone, when he had come face to face with Quirrell for the last time. Just so that voice had spoken, commanding Quirrell to kill him… the creature in the armchair, the creature Harry seemed to be inhabiting, was Lord Voldemort.

No sooner had Harry realized this than a jet of green light erupted, catching the unsuspecting Muggle in the chest. He crumpled to the floor, mouth still frozen in a silent scream.

Harry's scar exploded with pain, white light consuming his vision.

Many miles away, safe in his bed in the unassuming house located at Number 4, Privet Drive, Harry Potter awoke, jolting upright as his heart threatened to beat right out of his chest. He clapped a hand to his forehead, which still throbbed with a vengeance. Images flashed through his mind, images of a small, runty man, an old Muggle, and a deadly green light…

Harry shook his head, trying to bring some semblance of order to his thoughts. He'd been dreaming, but the details were eluding him, like water draining from a sieve. But there was something there, something important…

It was the memory of the voice that reminded him, the voice that seemed so utterly alien and cruel. "_Avada Kedavra!_" That was when Harry knew – he had dreamed about Lord Voldemort. He had watched him commit a murder, only Harry had watched it _through Voldemort's eyes_. Bile rose in his throat, and Harry had to draw on every bit of his willpower not to throw up.

As he had done in the dream, Harry relied on the meditation techniques he had learned from Professor Sarutobi to clear his mind. Once his heart rate was back to normal, he jumped out of bed and went to his desk. He had to inform Dumbledore about his dream – the Headmaster needed to know that Voldemort was on the move.

Harry bit back a curse. Now was the worst possible time for Voldemort to come out of hiding, since Orochimaru was still at large. He had never seen the body-stealing villain himself, but Harry knew that Orochimaru was behind Lucius Malfoy's insane attack on Hogwarts at the end of last term. It had taken all of the training Harry had received from Sarutobi, the best efforts of his friends and Hogwart's most powerful professors, and a good deal of luck, to defeat Lucius and the power he had been given by Orochimaru.

After Harry had woken up in the Hospital Wing, recovering from a stab wound in his abdomen, Sarutobi had explained about his former student, who was beginning a bid for power in the Wizarding World. From the sound of it, Orochimaru made Lucius look like a playful kitten, and Harry trembled to think what form his next attack would take.

If Voldemort was truly planning to come out of hiding, and if, as the dream suggested, he had followers ready to do his bidding, then things were about to get truly dangerous. It might even mean war.

Only a year ago, Harry would not have understood what that meant. But after killing a man to protect his fellow students, and after hearing that Hagrid and Sirius had almost died in an all-out battle in the Forbidden Forest, Harry had a taste of what war would bring to the wizarding world. More people would die, and next time his friends might be among them.

Never before had Harry truly understood the value of Sarutobi's training. He only wished that Sarutobi could clone himself a hundred times, so that every student in Hogwarts – no, every wizard in _Britain_ – could receive the same training as himself, Ron, and Hermione.

Harry put the finishing touches on his letter to Dumbledore, filling in as many details of the dream as he could remember. He could remember Wormtail's face fairly well, and he remembered something about another person, a "loyal servant," but that was all. He prayed that it would be enough.

After fishing an owl treat out of a marked tin, Harry took his letter to Hedwig. He stroked her soft neck feathers while she gobbled the treat, and smiled at her sadly. "Good girl. Are you ready to fly? This has to get to Dumbledore, as fast as you possibly can. Make sure he gets it, all right?"

Hedwig hooted softly, standing stock still as Harry affixed the folded letter to her right leg. He opened the window and watched as his beloved familiar took off, gathering speed to disappear into the pre-dawn glow.

Since he was already up, Harry decided to go outside and wait for the sun to rise. There was no chance he could fall asleep again, not after the dream he'd just had, and he was antsy enough that he felt the need to be doing something.

Harry crept through the house, trying not to wake his relatives. Once on the lawn, he ran a few laps at a fast pace to warm up his muscles. Though early summer, the morning air was still cool, and a slight wind made it feel cooler. Harry wasn't legally allowed to practice magic because he was still underage, but he could practice the martial arts forms that had constituted a large part of Professor Sarutobi's training. It wasn't very satisfying when he compared it to the training he'd received every day at Hogwarts, but it was better than nothing.

Harry was no expert, but a year of training, sometimes practicing hours in a day, had made his body accustomed to the strange motions. His balance was good, and his body was beginning to respond with speed and skill to the commands of his mind. Harry began to move through a series of basic forms, enjoying the calming sensation of the familiar motions.

His mind wandered as his body operated on auto-pilot, and he didn't even register the slight change in temperature as the sun rose over the horizon. Harry was doing his best to be patient, but the days with the Dursleys were driving him crazy. Less than a month ago, Harry had killed the father of a fellow student, and learned that the Wizarding World faced a greater threat even than Voldemort. Now he was back at Privet Drive, slaving for his relatives and suffering through the ridiculous diet that Petunia had imposed so that Dudley could lose weight.

The lack of sweets was making Dudley and Vernon more irritable than ever, and Harry was their preferred punching bag. But after the events of the school year, Harry couldn't even muster up any hatred for them. He only felt disgust and contempt. They were little people with petty minds, but compared with Lucius Malfoy after his transformation, they were little more than annoyances, like buzzing flies or wet socks.

Harry yearned to be somewhere else, _anywhere_ else, training with Ron and Hermione and improving his skills for the battles that lay ahead. But instead he was trapped here, magic-less, unable to do anything more than meditate and work on his form. Meanwhile Orochimaru was God knew where, regrouping for a second strike, and somewhere out there Voldemort was stirring as well. It was enough to drive Harry mad.

There was one question that consumed Harry: what was Sarutobi doing? The Professor had told Harry, Ron, and Hermione that their training would continue in the summer, but a week had already gone by with no word from him. Harry had owled his friends, and they had no explanation. Sarutobi was busy with something, and so they had no choice but to wait.

"What are you doing?" Dudley's voice shattered Harry's concentration, and he whirled around in shock. He had been so deep in thought that he hadn't heard his cousin approach across the lawn. Harry winced, picturing Professor Sarutobi's expression if he could have seen Harry surprised by someone as completely lacking in stealth as Dudley.

"I'm training," Harry said shortly, in no mood for a longer conversation. But his cousin was evidently looking for a confrontation, because he kept walking forward, malice in his piggy eyes.

"You look stupid," Dudley observed, with the air of someone making a brilliant pronouncement.

"Look who's talking," Harry shot back furiously, before he could help himself. Then he winced. As much fun as it might be to provoke Dudley, it would only make trouble in the long run. For one thing, Uncle Vernon would go berserk if Harry hurt his precious Diddums. Harry knew enough about his own limits to realize that his rudimentary martial arts knowledge wouldn't do much to stop his uncle if enraged. He was only twelve years and eleven months old, after all.

Harry could protect himself with magic, but that would draw the attention of the Ministry and create a completely new level of trouble. The smartest thing was to avoid Dudley, and ignore his attempts to start trouble.

But that was easier said than done. Dudley's mouth scrunched up in an ugly frown after Harry's insult, and he lunged forward with his fist extended in a clumsy right hook. Acting on instinct, Harry blocked with his left arm, then shifted his stance to grab hold of Dudley's wrist with his left hand and his elbow with the right.

He bent his legs and pulled forward, using his shoulder for leverage. Taken by surprise and completely off-balance, Dudley went crashing to the ground. He hit the lawn hard, the impact knocking the air out of his lungs so he couldn't cry out in pain.

Harry cocked his head to one side, allowing himself a small smile at the sight of his cousin flat on his back, gasping for breath like a landed fish. It was petty of him, he could admit that. But damn, did it feel good.

"_What the devil do you think you're doing, boy?!_" Uncle Vernon's voice shattered the silence of the early morning, causing Harry to hunch defensively.

_Shoot._

Harry whirled to see Vernon leaning out of the kitchen window, his uncle's face a deep, angry purple. Thick veins stuck out of Vernon's beefy neck.

"I didn't do anything," Harry said, feeling oddly calm. His mind was already planning a few steps ahead – if Vernon had seen him hit Dudley, then retribution was sure to follow. As soon as Vernon came out to the lawn, Harry could dodge past him and get inside. Then he just needed to reach his wand, and hopefully threaten Vernon with magic.

But if Vernon had only seen the last few seconds, there was still a chance that Harry could talk his way out of this. "Dudley tried to hit me from behind," Harry called out, not looking away from his uncle's angry gaze. "I dodged, and he tripped. I think he got the wind knocked out of him."

Vernon snorted, disbelieving. "I think you should enroll him in boxing lessons or something," Harry said, trying to sound unconcerned. "He's fat enough that the older kids at Smeltings might try to bully him. The way he is now, he wouldn't be able to defend himself. You know how older kids hate a weakling."

It seemed Harry had pushed his luck too far. Vernon gave a great roar of outrage, and disappeared from the window. A second later the front door burst open, almost knocked off its hinges, and Harry's uncle marched onto the lawn like an angry bull. Harry sighed, preparing to dodge if Vernon tried to hit him.

When Vernon was only yards away, there came a sudden burst of smoke that obscured Harry's line of sight. When it cleared, Harry's heart leaped in his chest. It was Professor Sarutobi.

The former Defence Against the Dark Arts professor stood mere paces from Vernon, who was gaping like a fish. "It might be best if you calm down," Sarutobi said quietly. "Try to control yourself before you do something you might regret."

"I- wha- how _dare you_?!" Vernon sputtered. "Popping into our lawn – in broad _daylight_, for God's sake – what if the neighbors saw?"

"I couldn't care less about your neighbors," Sarutobi responded, taking slow, measured steps forward. His tone grew colder, dangerous. "What I care about is the well-being of my student. And I can assure you that if you ever lash out at him in anger, if you lay so much as a _finger_ on him, I will kill you in the slowest, most painful way that I can imagine. Do you understand me?"

For a moment it felt like Sarutobi was generating some kind of force field, an almost palpable wave of malice that made it hard for Harry to breathe. He could only imagine how Vernon felt, who was the target of Sarutobi's terrifying attention. His uncle was white as a sheet, unable to utter a word. He jerked his head up and down, eyes wide and petrified.

"I have no patience for fools or abusers of children," Sarutobi stated calmly, and suddenly there was a peculiarly shaped knife in his hand. He twirled it casually, and brought it to rest delicately against Vernon's neck. Vernon tried to jerk away, but Sarutobi held him completely still with one hand on his shoulder.

"In the future, you will make sure that no one in your household lifts a hand against Harry. I will be monitoring you with my magic, at all times. If you violate this very simple instruction, there will be no second chances. I will kill you. Slowly. Now get out of my sight, and take your son with you."

Vernon's knees buckled, and when Sarutobi released him, he barely kept himself from falling down. "C-come along, Dudley," he stuttered, and father and son ran back into the house.

Harry stood there gaping, unable to believe what he had just witnessed. Sarutobi turned around, and gave an embarrassed cough. "Ah, Harry… I apologize for not coming sooner. I had… well, a bit of a situation."

"That's all right, Professor," Harry said awkwardly. "Um… you didn't have to do that. With Uncle Vernon, I mean."

For a second, Sarutobi's eyes twinkled as brightly as Dumbledore's. "I know," he said with a savage grin. "It was just funny."

Harry wasn't sure what to say to that. Sarutobi sighed, and became more serious. "That wasn't entirely about you, Harry," he said, looking very old and tired. "In my village, I was once forced to leave a child to grow up on his own. He had no one protecting him, and due to circumstances beyond his control, almost everyone in the village hated him. There was nothing I wanted more than to give him my protection and support, but to do so would only have put him in more danger. That is why seeing how your uncle treats you makes me so angry – it reminds of all the times I wanted to make someone's life better, but instead brought only suffering. If I can intimidate your relatives into treating you a bit better, then that's at least one small thing that I can do."

Harry wondered what had happened to this boy that Sarutobi was talking about. It was clear that his Professor cared for him very much.

"I don't want to waste any more time," Sarutobi said abruptly. "I am here to give you your instructions for the remainder of the summer."

"Are we going to start training again?" Harry asked eagerly.

Sarutobi nodded. "Yes. You, Ron, and Hermione will resume training immediately, although for the next few days I may be too busy to see to your instruction personally. However, I have managed to find a replacement whom I believe will be suitable."

"Who is it?"

"A dangerous criminal," Sarutobi said, winking slyly at Harry. "You know him as Sirius Black."

Harry grinned from ear to ear. Already this summer he had seen advertisements on television warning Muggles about the "crazed murderer" Black, who had apparently escaped from a mental asylum. Harry knew that meant that the Ministry still blamed Black for the attack on Hogwarts, which meant that his Godfather was still on the run. Knowing that he was safe, and that Harry would get to see Sirius soon, was the best news Harry had heard in months.

"Is it safe?" he asked, suddenly worried. "He hasn't come out of hiding or anything, has he?"

"He is safe," Sarutobi assured him. "The Headmaster has provided me with several Portkeys, which are keyed to you and your friends. They will take you directly to Mr. Black's current location, where he will continue your instruction and ensure that your instincts do not grow dull from inaction. He is well hidden, from magical eyes as well as mundane, and you need not fear for his safety. While you are with him, the Ministry of Magic will not be able to detect any spells that you cast, so you can practice without fear of reprisals."

For a moment, a deep frown spread across Sarutobi's face, carving deep furrows in his wrinkled cheeks. "What with the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher coming from the Ministry, I worry that you will face many challenges in the upcoming year. Mind that you approach this training with the utmost focus."

"Of course, sir! But…" Harry's spirits fell a little, and his voice trailed off. "Are you… not going to teach us at all?"

"I hope I will be able to," Sarutobi said, resting a hand on his shoulder. "But first, I have a project of great importance to attend to. Be at ease: all will be made clear to you in time."

Then Sarutobi took something out of an inner pocket of his white robe. It was a necklace with a dangling medallion in the shape of a stylized leaf. "Put this on, and wear it under your shirt," Sarutobi told him, handing the necklace to Harry. "It's a Portkey that only you can use, as it's magically keyed to you. Every morning at 9am, the Portkey will activate automatically, taking you to where you will be training. It will send you back here at 5pm. All you have to do is wear it next to your skin, and the necklace will take care of the rest."

Harry clipped the necklace on carefully, slipping it under his baggy oversized shirt that he'd inherited from Dudley. "Thank you, Professor," he said earnestly.

"There is no need for thanks," Sarutobi said breezily, waving his hand. "Just train hard. This may be the calm before the storm, but make no mistake – the storm is coming."

Then he disappeared, leaving Harry alone in the Dursleys' yard. Harry touched his shirt, feeling the imprint of the leaf medallion against the fabric. He smiled tightly, a tight ball of joy rising in his throat. Yes, there was danger out there, and it was growing with each day. But he was safe, Sarutobi hadn't forgotten about him, and he was going to spend the majority of each day with his godfather and his best friends.

As far as Harry was concerned, life was just fine, and he couldn't wait for tomorrow.

oOoOo

The library at the Durmstrang Institute was much like the rest of the school: cold, somewhat dark, and forbidding. The walls were stone, and the bookshelves were made of a marble carved with magic, and spelled to a deep midnight blue. It was an intimidating place, and many students preferred to come to the library only when it was absolutely necessary. But to Viktor Krum, the library was a place of peace, a haven away from the gawking eyes and awkward stares of the younger boys. There wasn't a student in the entire school who didn't know Viktor's name, or that he was the youngest professional seeker to start for an international Quidditch team. He was idolized by some, hated by others, and envied by all. But even though a majority of the Durmstrang Institute could cite all of his statistics from the past season, none of them knew Viktor Krum, the person.

But Viktor hadn't always been famous. When he was growing up, his duck-like walk and perpetually grumpy looking face made him a target for bullies. He got into more fights than he could remember, because he wasn't about to let others walk all over him.

It wasn't until Viktor first discovered flying that he knew what real freedom felt like. He was at home in the air in a way that he'd never been on the ground, and his affinity for flying was obvious to anyone with an eye to see. A talent scout had come to Durmstrang and seen him fly, and the rest was history. Barely a year later and he was a member of the Bulgarian national team, and a rising star in the Quidditch world.

But the fame, while heady and often intoxicating at first, was not what drove Krum to keep playing Quidditch. He tolerated the attention of his fans, because it was the right thing to do, but occasionally it drove him crazy. None of these people would know his name or give a damn about him if he couldn't fly a broom – in fact, they would probably jeer at him in the street for his bow-legged stance or the way his nose looked like it had been broken several times before.

When the attention at school became too much, Viktor retreated here, to the library, where he could lose himself in a book and avoid his clinging fans for a while. The librarian, a crusty old wizard named Chavdar, didn't know a Bludger from a badger, and chased away anyone causing disruptions in his library.

Some of Viktor's most pleasant memories of Durmstrang centered on the library, where he explored unknown worlds and facets of magic his teachers had probably never even thought about.

"Viktor!" a voice shouted from the entranceway.

Viktor cringed, recognizing that voice and knowing what was about to ensue. Sure enough, Chavdar appeared instantaneously, as if summoned by the loud shout, with wand in hand. "_Silence_!" the old wizard said, an unvoiced threat apparent in his tone.

Viktor let out a sigh of relief, glad that Chavdar was apparently in a good mood. Otherwise, he would have cursed first and scolded later.

Viktor shook his head, wondering at the stupidity of his best friend. But then, expecting Borislav Poliakoff to be anything other than loud and obnoxious was a waste of time. Some people didn't change, and Boris was one of those people. For as long as Viktor had known him, the boy had always spoken just a little too loud, and had a gift for saying the wrong thing.

But he was brave and loyal, and he had been Viktor's best friend long before he had ever seen a broom. The two of them had weathered many obstacles together, and their friendship was as strong as ever. Some people might have been jealous if their friend was becoming famous, but Boris took it in stride. He said that it was about time _something_ good happened to Viktor, and that fate owed him because he had been born so ugly. That particular conversation had ended, as so many conversations between them did, in a playful duel that had set both of their beds on fire and gotten them detention for a week.

"I'm sorry, Chavdar," Boris said hurriedly, his voice at a more reasonable volume. "I need to talk to Viktor. It's an emergency."

Viktor stood up, starting to get a little worried. His friend might be a bit of a slob, with a weakness for wine and women that had gotten him into trouble on more than one occasion, but he knew when to be serious.

Several years ago, when many of the upper students were attempting to revive the teachings of the Dark wizard Grindelwald, it had been Viktor and Borislav who led the students in showing the aggressors the error of their ways. During those days, before they had established their superiority in a series of illegal – and potentially deadly – duels, Viktor had learned that Boris was a steady hand in a fight, and someone to rely on.

So whatever it was that was making his friend look so worried, Krum knew it couldn't be good.

"What's the matter?" Krum demanded, leading Boris back to his table. Boris didn't sit down, but he dropped his bag on the table with a _clunk_.

"Little Nikki disappeared," Boris said shortly. "His bunkmates looked everywhere on the grounds, but they couldn't find him. He's gone."

"What?!" Krum barely kept himself from shouting. Nikolai, or Little Nikki as he was known, was one of the magically talented orphans who called Durmstrang their home. Karkaroff, the Headmaster of Durmstrang, had made it a priority years ago to seek out any orphans in the surrounding countries who had magic and no place to live. He offered them a home in Durmstrang, and in return the orphans carried out vital tasks like tending the fires, washing dishes, and cleaning. It was an arrangement that benefited both parties, because unlike Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Durmstrang did not have an army of House Elves to take care of the day-to-day logistical problems of running a school.

Only a few days ago, word had reached the older students that a first-year orphan named Deyan had disappeared. Everyone had thought he had simply run away – maybe he had found the lifestyle too difficult. It wasn't unheard of, so aside from sending out search parties, the teachers and students didn't know what else to do. Durmstrang was no place for weaklings, after all, so even if they found him, they might have to send him away again.

But now, there were two first-years missing. And while Viktor could possibly believe that one student had run away, two was stretching the bounds of possibility. There were other potential answers that were much more likely, and none of them were good.

"What do you think?" Krum asked, his mind turning over the possibilities. "A rogue vampire?"

Boris shook his head, but it was not a denial. "It could be…" he said, the worry plain in his voice. "Mikhail authorized emergency procedures an hour ago, before sending word to the Headmaster. The grounds are off-limits, and all students will travel to classes in groups until Karkaroff says otherwise."

Viktor nodded, pleased that the Head Boy, Mikhail, was not wasting time in reacting to the crisis. Whoever or whatever was snatching children, it had to have powerful magic to breach Durmstrang's defenses and move about unseen. Krum knew that Karkaroff had a good relationship with the local vampire clans, but a rogue vampire was always a worry. A school full of magically talented children was a tempting target for a monster that couldn't control its bloodlust.

"We should organize the older boys to take shifts at night guarding the dorms," Viktor said quietly. "There are too many magical creatures that are at home in the dark. And if it hasn't been done already, bring some of Nikki's clothing to the Defence Against the Dark Arts professor. He might know of a tracking spell."

As Poliakoff nodded, Viktor couldn't help remembering the last time they had planned together like this. They had been preparing to fight a group of Sixth Formers, much older students who felt that Grindelwald's legacy still belonged at Durmstrang. Then, as now, Viktor had felt scared, and uncertain about the future. But Durmstrang was his home, and he would protect it. And he knew that Boris would be with him every step of the way.

"Do you think they're still alive?" Boris asked slowly.

Viktor couldn't lie to him. "I don't know. But I do know that this isn't the end."

He wasn't sure how he knew. But he did, just as surely as he knew the exact moment to pull up out of a dive before crashing into the ground. All of his instincts were screaming at him, telling him that Durmstrang was in terrible danger.

"Things are going to get much, much worse."


	21. Oaths and Promises

**A/N: **Hey everyone! First, my apologies - I decided recently to drastically overhaul the Konoha one-shot, so it's not ready yet. Once it's finished, I'm just going to post it on the site so that everyone can read it. For now, however, I'm going to focus on writing more chapters for this story and **Rise of the Uchiha**. Many thanks to everyone who has reviewed - you deserve extra hugs and cookies.

This chapter we continue with the summer before Year Three at Hogwarts, following Draco's initial training, the Golden Trio's time with Sirius, and the increasingly troubling situation at Durmstrang. There will be one more chapter to round out the summer, and then another chapter to cover the events on the Hogwarts Express. Review, or else I'll sic Kreacher on you!

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Naruto or Harry Potter

**Chapter 20: Oaths and Promises**

"Are you ready?"

Sarutobi Hiruzen sat at a small, wooden table, across from Draco. They were alone except for Dobby, who was puttering around in the kitchen area, making breakfast on a gas-burning stove.

Draco swallowed, noting distantly how dry his throat felt. The tight, painful knot in his stomach wasn't fear. It was excitement.

"Yes."

"You must be absolutely certain," Sarutobi said once more, authority clinging to him as if flowing from his white robes. "Once you start down this path, there is no turning back."

Draco snorted impatiently. "Turning back was never an option. Orochimaru made that decision for me."

The Professor bowed his head. "Very well. Then the first thing you should know is that Orochimaru was once my student."

He paused, watching Draco carefully for his reaction. Draco kept his expression under control, waiting for more.

"He was my greatest failure. I did not see the darkness growing in his heart. Orochimaru began to carry out twisted, evil experiments on human subjects - innocent civilians, even children. He abducted and murdered dozens of people before we discovered what he was doing, and when the time came to kill him... I couldn't. I thought I could keep him contained, imprisoned - but he escaped, and ever since then he has continued to slaughter innocents in his search for dominion over the known world. Your parents are the latest in a long string of murders that I could have prevented, had I acted when it was in my power to end his life. For that, Draco, I am truly sorry."

If Draco had not promised his parents during their funeral that he would not cry, he might have broken down then. Instead, he clamped down his emotions ruthlessly. Even though a part of Draco was angry, furious even, that Sarutobi had not killed Orochimaru before he could make Draco an orphan, it was impossible to think of Sarutobi as his enemy after looking into Orochimaru's eyes.

Those slitted pupils were windows into hell, and that pale face with its knowing sneer took up every ounce of Draco's hate. There was simply not enough left to direct towards Sarutobi, who was also the only person treating Draco like an adult instead of pitying him. Draco said nothing, feeling empty inside.

"I am in this country for one purpose," Sarutobi went on. "To kill Orochimaru. But he is at the height of his strength, and I have grown old and weak. At the end of last year, Dumbledore and I were able to outmatch Orochimaru, but we could not destroy him. Now that he has failed once, he will be even more careful in his next attempt. He is practically immortal, which means that time favors him much more than it favors us. If we are to be victorious, I must do more than fight Orochimaru myself. I must prepare the Wizarding world to fight beside me." Sarutobi fixed Draco with a piercing look. "That's where you come in."

Dobby interrupted them for a moment, bringing a tray laden with tea and biscuits to the table. The tip of his long nose was just visible over the teapot. "Professor Sabby-tabby must be thirsty from such important talk," Dobby said, bowing reverently once he deposited his burden in front of them. "And Master Draco must keep up his strength."

"Thank you, Dobby," Sarutobi said, unexpected mirth in his eyes. Draco waved Dobby away impatiently.

"So will you teach me?" Draco demanded, unable to keep the longing out of his tone. "Will you teach me to fight like you?"

Sarutobi poured himself a cup of tea, his eyes weighing Draco like a chunk of dragonflesh in the black market at Knockturn Alley.

"That depends on you. I'm willing to train you, but I require a few assurances before I start."

"What do you want?" Draco demanded. "I'll do anything!" If it meant acquiring the skills to avenge his parents, there was nothing Draco wouldn't do.

Sarutobi tilted his head slightly to one side. If anything, he looked disappointed. "That's what I'm afraid of," he whispered, so softly that Draco almost couldn't make it out. But before Draco could say anything, Sarutobi shook his head with sudden resolve, like a wet dog briskly shaking itself dry. "But that is neither here nor there. Draco, I will teach you, but only if you swear a magically binding oath that you will never misuse the skills that you learn from me. I have no desire to create another Orochimaru."

Draco was too confused to feel insulted. "What?"

Sarutobi sighed, then took a delicate sip of tea from his china cup. "I unleashed one monster on this world," Sarutobi said, a lifetime of grief shining, raw, in his eyes. "I will not repeat my mistake. Right now you seek only revenge - a worthy goal, in its way, but vulnerable to all kinds of evil. Your parents were not saints, Draco. They served the Dark Lord Voldemort in the last war, torturing and murdering innocent people. I will help you avenge them, but I refuse to allow you to become them."

Draco felt like someone had swung a hammer into his gut, driving his breath from his lungs with a sudden shock. But many years of conditioning brought the automatic response to his lips. "My parents were forced to act under the Imperius Curse. They were tried by the Wizengamot and cleared of all charges." These were the words Draco had been taught to say, if anyone ever accused his parents of being Death Eaters. It had been many years since anyone had possessed the sheer stupidity to broach that topic with Draco.

Sarutobi looked somewhat less than impressed with Draco's denial. "How well they have you trained," he sighed.

Draco opened his mouth, furious, but Sarutobi raised a hand, cutting him off. "Let us leave this discussion for another day. The bottom line is this: if you swear to follow my directions and accept my conditions, then I will turn you into a warrior. If not, you can go your own way with my best wishes. What do you say?"

Draco gritted his teeth, resenting the power that Sarutobi had over him, hating that he couldn't defend his parents against people who insulted them. But Sarutobi wasn't the enemy here, no matter what Draco's pride said. Orochimaru was the enemy, and Draco wouldn't let himself forget that for an instant.

"There's only one answer," Draco said, glowering. "You made bloody sure of that. I'll follow your rules."

"Very well," said Sarutobi, pushing back his chair and rising to his feet. "Then let us begin."

Draco followed the Professor outside, pausing momentarily to snatch a biscuit from Dobby's tray. The cottage where Draco and Dobby were staying was in the middle of a field somewhere in England, but apart from that Draco had no idea where they were. Sarutobi had promised him that it was a secure location, protected by all possible magical means.

Someone was waiting for them just outside the cottage. Professor Dumbledore stood on the front porch, puffing contentedly on his pipe. His eyes twinkled briefly, but he wore a sad smile as they approached. "Mr. Malfoy," said the Headmaster, putting away his pipe, "I offer my sincere condolences. Your parents fought against the most dangerous threat Wizarding Britain has ever seen, and all to protect you. They were very heroic, and I am truly sorry for your loss."

"Heroism didn't seem to help them much," Draco snapped before he could help himself.

Dumbledore stroked his beard contemplatively. "Perhaps not. But neither was their sacrifice in vain. You are alive, are you not? And where there is life, there is hope."

Dumbledore's unshakable calm was irritating Draco beyond control. "I don't need your platitudes, old man!" he sneered. "I need to learn how to fight."

Sarutobi shot Draco a stern look, but Dumbledore ignored his tone. "That's why I'm here," he said simply. "If you've agreed to Professor Sarutobi's conditions, then I will administer the magical binding. You must swear the Unbreakable Vow."

"What?!" Draco whirled to Sarutobi, shock and outrage warring on his face. "The Unreakable Vow - that's practically medieval! You can't accept my word as a Malfoy?"

"I'm afraid not," Sarutobi replied. "That is my price. You must swear to do no harm, to anyone, unless authorized by myself or Professor Dumbledore, or else in defence of your life or the lives of others."

"I have to be 'authorized' by you?" Draco demanded. "What does that mean, that I'm your personal lackey?"

"No," Sarutobi replied. "I simply want to ensure that you will never use the skills I teach you to harm innocent people. But sometimes sacrifices must be made for the greater good, so I have left provision for unforeseen circumstances - if the Headmaster or I deem it necessary, you will be able to fight with your full force. Most importantly, since your life is always in danger from Orochimaru, your oath will not get in the way of your revenge. And if Dumbledore and I were both to perish, the oath would cease to hold you."

Draco did not want to swear the oath - it felt too much like trapping himself, and Draco had learned enough from his father to want to avoid letting _anyone_, even Professor Sarutobi, gain such total power over him. But when all the advantage was on the other side, only a fool refused a chance to improve his position.

"I will swear," Draco said, trying not to sound petulant.

"Very well." Dumbledore drew his wand, gesturing Draco and Sarutobi to step closer. "Please kneel, and clasp your right hands together, if you would."

Draco stared challengingly into Sarutobi's eyes, though he marveled at the strength in the old man's fingers. Sarutobi spoke first, his voice the only sound in the meadow. For a moment, even the wind seemed to stop and listen.

"Will you, Draco Malfoy, agree to obey me, Hiruzen Sarutobi, in all matters pertaining to your training in arts magical or military?"

"I will."

As Draco agreed, a thin line of red fire appeared from the end of Dumbledore's wand, twining around Draco's and Sarutobi's enjoined hands. It flared briefly, then sank into Draco's skin. It was both hot and cold, burning with an icy pain. Draco shivered.

"And will you swear never to inflict harm on another unless your life or the lives of others are in danger, or unless specifically authorized by me or Professor Dumbledore?"

Draco paused for a moment longer this time. Then he bowed his head, acknowledging the inevitable. "I will."

A second stream of fire, a little thicker this time, twined around their hands and disappeared. Dumbledore made a satisfied sound, and tucked his wand away in an inner pocket of his robes. "That should do it. Mr. Malfoy, I wish you all the best in the coming month. You have an excellent teacher, and I encourage you to make the most of it. Once the school year begins, the quality of your instruction will no doubt take a turn for the worse."

He Disapparated with a _pop_, leaving Draco and Sarutobi alone on the porch. Draco got up, his knees wobbling just a bit, and watched Sarutobi warily.

"What happens now?"

"Now?" Sarutobi let out a humorless bark of laughter. "Now, I begin your first lesson concerning the physical limits of the human body."

"What in Merlin's name does that mean?"

Sarutobi clapped his hands, and with a _crack_ and a cloud of smoke three vicious-looking dogs appeared, giant mastiffs with spiked collars and drool dripping from wicked teeth.

"It means that you should begin running, and not stop running until I tell you," Sarutobi declared. "Otherwise the last of the Malfoys will meet an ignoble and painful death."

As Draco was disappearing into the distant trees, dogs close at his heels, the house-elf Dobby joined Sarutobi on the porch. The elf squinted his big eyes, watching the chase with a worried frown. "Will Master Draco be all right, Professor Sabby-tabby?"

The Professor sighed. "I hope he will, Dobby. I really hope he will."

oOoOo

The night that Sarutobi threatened Vernon and gave Harry his Portkey, the Boy Who Lived couldn't sleep for excitement. His anticipation only grew the next morning, right up until 8:59am, one minute before his Portkey was supposed to activate and reunite him with his Godfather, Sirius Black.

At precisely 9:00am, Harry Potter learned something new about himself: he absolutely hated Portkeys. As his pendant activated and Harry's insides were sucked out through his navel, he had just enough time to realize that he would experience this unpleasant sensation twice a day, every day, until the end of summer. If his jaw hadn't been clenched tight, Harry would have groaned.

Before Harry's ears stopped ringing, before he even knew where he was, he was enveloped in a bone-breaking hug.

"Harry!" Sirius cried out, squeezing his godson so tight that Harry thought he heard his ribs creak.

Harry tried to say something, but it was muffled by Sirius' robes. Instead, he simply hugged back for all he was worth. When they stepped away, Sirius mussed up Harry's hair playfully, grinning like the madman he was accused of being.

"How are you, Harry? Letting the Muggles get you down?"

Harry laughed, feeling happier than he could remember. "Not a chance, Sirius. Especially not now that I can start training again."

A speculative light came into Sirius' eyes. "Dumbledore told me about the three of you, but I didn't believe him at first. Merlin's Beard, you're not even thirteen! But you went toe to toe with Lucius Malfoy..."

Harry's face fell, remembering that terrifying, exhilarating fight. Sirius guessed the way his thoughts were turning, and winced.

"Sorry Harry, I didn't mean to remind you of that. No one your age should have to take a life. But I want you to know - I'm so proud of you. You saved lives that day. I'm just sorry I wasn't there fighting with you."

Harry shook his head fiercely. "You had your own fight. I heard from Dumbledore. What was it like, in the Forest? I heard you rode a centaur!"

Sirius put a finger to his lips and _shh-_ed him comically. "Don't spread that around, Harry! If Bane thought I was bragging about that, he'd shoot me full of arrows. But I'll tell you, I'm grateful for what he did." Sirius looked away, remembering. "I still dream about that day, trying to get to the edge of the Forest with a horde of Acromantulas all around us... I had a few closer calls during my Hogwarts days, but not many."

Harry forced himself to grin, trying to lighten the mood. "So when do we start training? That's why I'm here, right?"

Sirius nodded. "You're damn right. But before we start, I should warn you. I've got a few other guests who are anxious to see you."

Right on cue, Ron and Hermione came running in from the next room. The next few minutes were lost in a round of hugging (Hermione and Harry), manly back-slapping (Ron and Harry), and jumbled questions flying so fast that it was impossible to understand half of them (from all three).

"When did you get here?"

"How's your summer been?"

"Did your relatives lock you up again?"

"Mum's been worried sick about you!"

Sirius watched them all, amusement warring with joy in his expression. After believing that he was doomed to die without ever again seeing the people he loved, the sight of his godson reuniting with his friends was almost enough to bring a tear to his eye. He gave them a few minutes, until he'd judged that they had run out of questions. Then he clapped sharply, arresting their attention.

"That's enough of that mushy stuff," he declared, trying to keep the grin off of his face. "You're here to work, not prance around like pixies at a potluck."

He was expecting them to laugh at the image, but the kids surprised him by falling silent immediately. Their backs straightened until they were practically at attention. Sirius was surprised to see such discipline from them, but he knew immediately where it had come from. Professor Sarutobi had certainly had an effect on these youngsters. Sirius was looking forward to testing their skills.

"You haven't had a tour of the house yet," he said, pacing back and forth in front of them, "but that will have to wait. I've been told you usually begin with meditation, correct?"

All three nodded. "Right, then that's how we'll begin," Sirius declared. "Make yourselves comfortable, and clear your minds. Then we'll get to the fun stuff."

Sirius remained standing, while the three children sat cross-legged on the luxurious carpet, decorated with the Black family crest. Of the three of them, Hermione seemed the most comfortable. Her face betrayed no impatience, only a deep calm. Sirius had heard a lot about her from Sarutobi and Dumbledore, and guessed that Hermione's naturally organized mind found meditation fairly natural. Ron had the hardest time, twitching every now and again as he fought to keep his thoughts centered.

After a while, Sirius stopped keeping an eye on the children and ran through his own mental exercises. Meditation was the foundation of skilled Occlumency, and Occlumency had helped him keep his sanity while he had been in Azkaban. It was impossible to protect one's mind completely against Dementors, and not even Occlumency could keep them from making him relive his worst memories, but the discipline of the technique had kept his wits sharp even in his despair.

Sirius knew that these children weren't capable of Occlumency yet, but with minds well ordered from regular meditation, they soon would be. Sirius could hear Kreacher muttering in the other room, and somewhere a fly was buzzing like crazy, but he firmly ignored all extraneous distractions until they melted into insignificance.

An hour or so later, Sirius told them to stop. "Excellent work, you three. But sitting on our arses won't save the world. Let's go to the Arena."

"The Arena?" Ron breathed, his eyes lighting up. "Are we going to fight lions or something?"

Sirius barked a laugh. "Now wouldn't that be something? Unfortunately, I haven't had enough time to train up any lions for you would-be gladiators. Follow me – you'll see when we get there."

He led them through a narrow hallway, paintings of severe witches and wizards frowning at them as they passed. There was even a solitary suit of armor, and an extremely dour house-elf polishing one armoured foot with a dirty rag.

"That's Kreacher," Sirius said dismissively. "He came with the house. Try not to trip over him, and pay no attention to what he says. He's a vicious little blighter."

"Master is jesting," Kreacher growled, eyeing them warily. "Master always loved his jests. And his blood traitor friends…"

"You see that?" Sirius shrugged. "Just ignore him. He's nasty, but harmless."

Harry shrugged and kept walking, but Hermione cast several glances back over her shoulder at the elf, who continued to mutter foul imprecations just loud enough to be overheard.

They arrived at a wooden door with a metal doorknob. "The Arena" was gouged messily into the wood.

"Here we are," Sirius announced proudly. "It used to be Mum's old sitting room, but I couldn't stand the mothballed furniture, so I threw it all out. Then I thought about putting in a Space-Expanding Charm, and everything just kind of went from there. Professor Sarutobi had a few helpful suggestions for how I should equip the place."

They experienced a slight jerk as they entered, the walls pushing back until the four of them were at the edge of a chamber the size of a football field. It didn't look much like any arena Harry had ever seen, but it was equipped with training dummies and all kinds of equipment. To their right was a large shelf with dozens of strange weapons, some of which the three Gryffindors recognized from Sarutobi's office.

"What will we be doing?" Hermione asked politely. "Professor Sarutobi used to have us spar to warm up."

"We'll get to that," Sirius assured her. "But first, I have to get an idea of where you three are at. So it's time for your first exam, Auror style. On the fly and highly dangerous."

Sirius waved his wand in the direction of the shelves against the wall, and shouted, "_Accio Briefcase!_"

A sleek metallic case shot through the air toward him. Sirius snatched it by the black handle, and laid it flat on the ground. Harry, Ron, and Hermione leaned in, eyeing the briefcase curiously. "This is an All-in-One Auror Obstacle Course," Sirius said proudly. "Cost me a fortune, but thanks to my dear old Mum, I've got one. I knew coming from a rich family of Blood Purists would pay off some day - I just had to wait until they were all dead."

Sirius tapped the briefcase smartly with his wand, and said, "Configuration One!"

The briefcase popped open, and out of it came a torrent of wooden planks and metal parts. Before their eyes the materials began to assemble by themselves, creating full-sized houses, street-lamps, and even little metal stalls like those belonging to street vendors in London. In less than a minute an entire street had appeared out of nowhere - it was a quaint, sleepy-looking street, lined by 4-story apartment buildings, pushcarts, and a few cars.

Last to fly out of the briefcase were cardboard cut-outs of people. The Gryffindors only had a time for a quick glance before the cut-outs flew off to various locations on the make-shift street. Many more disappeared behind the buildings, or hid out of sight.

Ron looked at Harry and whistled. "Bloody brilliant!" he breathed.

Harry shook his head in admiration. "You said it, mate."

Hermione's face reflected pure wonder. "How in the world... there's transfiguration involved, and charms to animate the objects... but how did they embed the instructions for assembly? Maybe a Part-for-Whole enchantment..."

Sirius couldn't help laughing. "Hermione, we're running the obstacle course, not reverse-engineering it. That will be your extra credit assignment, ok?"

She looked so determined that Sirius didn't have the heart to tell her he was joking. "Right, you three. You see before you an average street in an average district of London. Everything's cheery, right? The Muggles are carrying on with their lives, none the wiser. Pedestrians are enjoying the sunlight, and vendors are selling fish and chips. Unfortunately, there are Death Eaters about."

Harry grinned with exhilaration, and for a moment he looked so much like James that Sirius lost track of what he was saying. He disguised his slip with a fit of coughing.

"...as I said, Death Eaters. Your job is to get to the end of the street, neutralizing any Death Eaters that pop up along the way. Points will be deducted for missing, and Merlin help you if you hit any Muggles. This is a test of your precision casting and situational awareness, both of which are vital skills for an Auror. Muggle police have a similar test, though they train with guns instead of wands. Now, who wants to go first?"

Hermione and Harry raised their hands instantly, but strangely, Ron didn't. Sirius looked at him, wondering if the redhead was intimidated. But his face held no trace of anxiety, only calculation. Then Sirius realized - Ron didn't want to go first, because he wanted to see what dangers the course held. He didn't want to go in blind. Sirius' respect for the boy skyrocketed.

"Harry, let's see what you make of it," Sirius said. He took a pocketwatch out of his robes and held it up, as his godson crouched at the edge of the makeshift street. It was fifty yards from end to end, and there were about a dozen street vendors and twice that many pedestrian cutouts walking around, animated by magic. "Go!"

Harry advanced warily, his wand out and his eyes scanning all directions. The first Death Eater appeared behind a stall on Harry's left, right next to a vendor selling roasted peanuts. Harry's Stupefy hit the blank Death Eater mask right in between the eyes.

The course became progressively more difficult, with Death Eaters appearing in groups of two and three, and even swooping down on fake broomsticks from the roofs of buildings. Harry took them all out beautifully, his spells never once hitting any of the innocent bystanders.

Only once did Harry have any trouble, which occurred when a Death Eater cutout emerged suddenly from a pothole as Harry was walking by. It was so close Harry didn't have space to raise his wand, and he stumbled momentarily. He caught himself a second later and executed a diving roll to the right, coming up on one knee to fire a blasting curse at the Death Eater. He was so startled that he put a little too much power behind it, so that not only did the cutout explode, but a section of the street five yards in diameter exploded too. A chunk of cobblestone narrowly missed a cutout of a fashionable woman wearing a faux-fur coat.

Harry reached the end of the street, while Ron and Hermione gave loud cheers. When he rejoined the group, however, he looked disappointed. "I can't believe I messed that up," he groused.

"Are you kidding?" Sirius demanded. "That was brilliant! You're a natural - there are veteran Aurors who don't cast with half that accuracy. As for the moment there at the end, just file it away for future reference. If you're fighting enemies that can Apparate, you have to be prepared for close-quarters spellwork. Keep your wand arm up at all times, with your wrist higher than your elbow. It will significantly increase your response time."

Harry nodded, acknowledging Sirius' praise, but not letting it go to his head. Sirius tried not to let his consternation show. He had heard how well the kids were doing, but hearing and seeing were two completely different things. Harry was much more accurate than Sirius had been before the war, and his professional attitude was light-years ahead of the Marauders during their school years - except perhaps Lupin, Sirius amended.

"Can I go next?" Ron asked, eyes alight.

"I don't see why not," Sirius said, after Hermione gracefully gestured for Ron to go ahead. "Harry's time was one minute, twenty-seven seconds. See if you can beat it."

Ron grinned at Harry, his competitive side emerging clearly. "Not a problem." He turned to the obstacle course, but before Sirius could tell him to begin, Ron muttered a spell under his breath. "_Telum Lumina_." A burst of light erupted from his wand and encased it, assuming the shape of a long knife, almost a sword, made of translucent violet light.

Harry swore. "Why didn't _I_ think of that?" he groaned. Ron laughed, but it was good-natured instead of gloating.

"Strategy, mate."

Sirius gave the command for Ron to begin, curious to see what the purpose of Ron's spell was. It became clear when Ron reached the Death Eater that had taken Harry by surprise. Instead of rolling away, Ron lunged low, lashing out with his wand without bothering to cast a spell. Sirius' jaw dropped as the modified wand tore through the cutout like it was tissue paper. The Death Eater mask went flying through the air.

Ron finished a few seconds later than Harry, because he wasn't quite as accurate. Some of the Death Eaters swooping in on brooms evaded him once or twice. When he rejoined the group, Ron also looked as though he wanted another chance.

"Well done, Ron," Sirius congratulated him. "I especially liked that sword-spell. Since it stays activated while you cast other spells, I can see how it would be useful in combat situations. Especially if you could Apparate... some time soon, I'm going to need you three to teach me that one."

Sirius waved Hermione forward, smiling.

"Your turn, Miss Granger. Show these boys how it's done."

The bushy-haired witch smiled back, and to his surprise, Sirius saw a competitive gleam in her eyes that easily rivaled that of Ron and Harry. It wasn't that surprising, though, when he thought about it. A Muggleborn witch leading her class by a wide margin - she clearly had a powerful drive to prove herself. During her Hogwarts years, Lily Evans had been much the same.

Hermione wasn't quite as quick with her wand as Ron or Harry, but she displayed technical skill that put them both to shame. During the first half of the test she lost a few points for missing the trickier Death Eaters, and she blasted one Muggle out of existence with a Reducto that hit him in the chest, but she quickly regained her lead when the Death Eaters on brooms began attacking her.

To the astonishment of all three wizards, Hermione levitated small, round stones from within a pocket of her robes. She enlarged all of them with an Expansion Charm that Sirius believed was O.W.L level, and them Banished them with such speed that the Death Eater cutouts didn't have a prayer of dodging. She consistently took out multiple targets, employing her barrage of stones to great effect.

She finished the course and returned, breathing heavily but with her head held high. She completed the course in one minute and fifteen seconds, beating Harry and Ron by a wide margin.

"Wonderful, Hermione," Sirius declared. "How did you come up with the idea to attack the ones on brooms like that?"

"I always carry the stones with me," said Hermione, "since they're easy to manipulate with magic, and they make good shields as well as good weapons. I used them against the Death Eaters on brooms because I didn't have to worry about hitting any Muggles. There was no reason to take them out one by one, when an area attack would work much faster."

"Full marks, Hermione," Sirius beamed. He couldn't wait to duel these kids - he had a feeling they had many more tricks up their sleeves. But he had a few, too...

"Brilliant as always, Hermione," said Ron, pride in his friend warring with annoyance at coming in third. "But why did you blast that poor Muggle? Your aim isn't usually off by that much."

_Aha!_ Sirius had hoped someone would ask her that. Hermione shook her head firmly.

"That was no Muggle. He was wearing cargo shorts and a suit jacket - no Muggle would _ever_ think that was all right. Besides, his wand was sticking out of his right pocket."

Harry and Ron stared at Hermione, open-mouthed. Sirius patted the witch on the back. "She sure showed you two, eh? Don't let it get to you, though - I don't think anyone but Mad-Eye Moody has ever gotten that on the first try before."

"Blimy, Hermione..." Ron said, rolling his eyes. "You're downright superhuman sometimes."

She blushed bright red, right to the roots of her bushy hair.

"So the clear winner of Round One is Hermione Granger, ladies and gentlemen!" Sirius declared in his best announcer voice. "But it's not over yet. Potter and Weasley have a chance to take back the lead."

The three Gryffindors were all ears. "Configuration 2!" Sirius shouted, waving his wand. Immediately the street began to shift and rearrange, the houses dismantling as if caught in a tornado, wood and metal dancing in the air and merging to form new shapes. A minute later the street was gone, and in its place was an obstacle course with wooden logs, ropes strung over mud-filled trenches, and even a twenty-foot wall made of rope that one had to climb over.

"This one tests your physical endurance and speed," said Sirius. "Let's see what you hotshots can do when you can't rely on your magic."

The rest of the morning passed in much the same way, as Sirius ran through the battery of Auror tests in order to determine what his new students needed to practice. After the obstacle course there was a flying test, which Harry passed with flying colors. Ron did fairly well, but it was clear that Hermione needed to work on her flying. Anti-Apparition wards were a common element in wizarding wars, so the ability to ride a broom well was vital, both as a means of escape and a form of combat.

One area where Hermione clearly excelled was in medical magic and magical first aid. With her nearly photographic memory and voracious appetite for knowledge, she could perform emergency blood-clotting spells and even brew restorative potions and antidotes for many poisons. The boys were not nearly as versed in those aspects of Auror training, a fault that Sirius vowed to correct as soon as possible. No matter how skilled a witch or wizard was in combat, it didn't matter if he or she was incapable of healing comrades wounded on the battlefield.

When all three Gryffindors were thoroughly exhausted, both physically and mentally, Sirius had them stop for lunch. Right on time, Kreacher entered the Arena with a trolley heaped full of foods high in protein and carbohydrates, along with several potions meant to replenish nutrients that the children had used up while training.

Sirius sighed when he saw that most of the food was either overcooked or undercooked. Kreacher followed his orders, but he always found loopholes to make life a little bit worse for Sirius. Not for the first time, Sirius wished he could free the little terror and move on. Unfortunately, it was too much of a security risk, so Sirius would have to grit his teeth and bear it.

Hermione tried to make eye contact with the house-elf. "Thank you for the food, Kreacher."

"What is that the Mudblood is saying?" Kreacher muttered to himself. "She thanks Kreacher? What is the world coming to, that Kreacher must serve Mudbloods in the venerable House of Black..."

"Oi, you!" Ron snarled, coming to his feet in an instant. "Watch that filthy mouth, or I'll wash it out with soap!"

Hermione was watching Kreacher with an equal mixture of hurt and sadness, but she jumped in surprise when Ron came to her defense.

"That's enough, Ron," Sirius said. "Kreacher, you're dismissed. If you use that word again in my presence, it will mean clothes." It was an empty threat, and Kreacher knew it. But he bowed low and left, muttering all the while.

Harry quirked an eyebrow at Ron, trying to lighten the mood. "Wash his mouth out with soap? Are you emulating your Mum now, Ronald?"

The youngest male Weasley blushed red, electing not to answer by piling several slices of ham on a piece of toast.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione fell on the food like a pack of ravening wolves, giving Sirius a strong sense of nostalgia. It was like watching himself, James, Remus, and Wormtail in the Great Hall all those years ago, putting away enough food for a dozen people after a long night of causing mischief.

"You're all far beyond where I thought you'd be," Sirius told them as they ate. "But most likely due to limited time, Professor Sarutobi has focused exclusively on your combat skills. We'll continue that, but I also want to bring you up to speed on magical first aid and Potions. That's as important as any other aspect of being an Auror, which is what I'm going to turn you into this summer. Of course, with what you've learned from Sarutobi, you're going to go far beyond the limits of the usual Auror training. But you need a strong base to build from, and that's what I hope to give you."

In the afternoon they had a series of duels, both one-on-one and in pairs, and Sirius learned as much from the children as he taught them. They used magic in ways that he had never considered, displaying a creativity that amazed him. This was definitely Sarutobi's legacy, because the tactical imagination guiding these students was nothing taught at Hogwarts. Sirius was forced to dodge giant boulders, leap away from pits that opened up under his feet, and neutralize clouds of paralyzing mist. He was particularly impressed with a modified Shield Charm that Hermione called on, which surrounded her entire body and deflected curses from all directions.

The time passed in a flash, and before he knew it, it was almost time for his students to return home. Sirius called a halt several minutes before their Portkeys were supposed to activate, so that he could give them some final words of advice.

He looked around at the three of them, pride welling up inside him as he read the determination in their sweat-streaked faces. "You've all done well today. But training doesn't end when you go home. The Headmaster and Professor Dumbledore have put together a summer curriculum for you, which means you have some homework to look forward to."

Ron groaned out loud, and ducked quickly when Hermione tried to swat the back of his head. "This house is warded, which is why even the Ministry can't tell if you perform under-age magic here. But when you're at home they _can_ track you, which means you'll have to focus on other things. From now on you'll study the Auror manual _Of Potions and Poisons_, and summarize what you learn every night. We'll also move your meditation to the evening, so that when you're with me we can start dueling as soon as you arrive."

Sirius summoned three copies of the popular Auror textbook and distributed it to his students. Hermione cradled it lovingly, scanning the Table of Contents right away.

"There's one more thing," Sirius said gravely, reclaiming their attention. "You've probably guessed by now that Professor Sarutobi isn't coming back to Hogwarts next year. The new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher is a Ministry employee, and the Ministry is currently no friend to Hogwarts. Cornelius Fudge thinks that Dumbledore is preparing for a power play, and that he's setting me up to be a puppet Dark Lord."

Sirius bared his teeth, inwardly cursing the Minister's stupidity. "Fudge is blinded by his prejudice and ambition. He's ignored testimony from the teachers, and he even thinks that Dumbledore is responsible somehow for Lucius Malfoy's death, since Lucius used to be his biggest supporter. With Dolores Umbridge teaching Defence, and the Dementors of Azkaban patrolling the school grounds, you're all going to be under close watch this year. Hogwarts will be hostile territory. Do you understand?"

They nodded, faces grim, accepting what he said without a twitch. Sirius reminded himself that these three had faced down Lucius - they were not really children any longer. They were warriors. But still, Sirius promised himself, they would not have to fight alone.

"You cannot afford to let Umbridge know that you have been trained. If she discovers the extent of your skill, she'll think that Dumbledore has been training students in combat in order to fight the Ministry."

Ron said under his breath, "It might not be a bad idea."

"Be that as it may," Sirius replied, "we have more important enemies than the Ministry, and we can't afford to do anything that would give Fudge the excuse to remove Dumbledore from his position. You three will have to avoid Umbridge's eye."

"Does that mean we won't be able to train for a year?" Harry asked.

"Not at all. Losing a year is the worst possible thing that could happen, especially now that Orochimaru is doubtless building his forces, and Voldemort is out there doing Merlin knows what. Don't worry. Hogwarts will always provide help for those who are loyal to it, and that most definitely includes you three."

Sirius grinned at them, glad to be able to provide some good news. "As a matter of fact, I believe that Professor Sarutobi has a gift for the Gryffindor Common Room. It's a trunk that he used to keep in his office, but it's too big to take traveling with him, so he's going to leave it to Gryffindor House."

The children's eyes lit up as they remembered Sarutobi's concealed dojo. "You'll have resources," Sirius assured them. "We won't send you in there completely unguarded. You just have to be smart. Think of this as the greatest prank in the history of Hogwarts, pulled off right under the noses of the Ministry."

They had just enough time to assure Sirius that they wouldn't let him down when their Portkeys activated, leaving Sirius alone once more.

"The Marauders live again," he whispered, watching the spot where his students had just been. "Let's hope they do a better job than we did."

oOoOo

Three days after Little Nicki's disappearance, Viktor Krum received a summons to the Headmaster's office. Viktor left the Fifth Form dormitory immediately, glad that Karkaroff seemed to be taking the problem seriously.

Even after searching every inch of the grounds, no trace of the orphans had been found. Neither had the older students or the Professors uncovered any evidence of what had taken them. There was no magical residue or physical signs of intrusion.

Over the summer most of the students went home, but for the orphans and many of the older students, Durmstrang _was_ their home. They rallied together, ready to protect their home from whatever meant them harm. The students organized themselves into groups, going to and from summer classes in packs, supervised by at least one older student at all times. The Professors had added extra protections on the dormitories, including some particularly nasty traps specialized for destruction of the Undead. A vampire trying to enter the dorms would be burned to a crisp before it knew what was happening.

Viktor had been impressed by the way that Mikhail, the Head Boy, was handling the crisis. He had been one of the students who thought they could revive the teachings of Grindelwald, but after losing a duel to Viktor, Mikhail had turned over a new leaf. He took his responsibility seriously.

The only strange thing in the past few days had been the Headmaster's unaccountable silence. Normally, Karkaroff would have made a speech during breakfast about how everything was under control, and there was no need to panic. However, for the last three days, Karkaroff hadn't even shown up at mealtimes. Viktor was sure that meant that Karkaroff was looking for the students in places that weaker wizards couldn't go, but he wished that the Headmaster had made time to address the student body. In times of crisis, it was crucial that a leader was both visible and calm, so that everyone else followed his example. Karkaroff's absence was creating tension, however, and Viktor thought that even their teachers were growing nervous.

So Viktor ran to Karkaroff's office through the cold, drafty halls of Durmstrang, skirting around groups of First and Second Formers and their older protectors. He nodded as he passed by Boris, who was shepherding four Second Form orphans to their Remedial Potions class.

Karkaroff's office - or rather, his suite of offices - was located on the fourth floor, the highest level of the castle. Not many classrooms were located up here, and it was rumored that Karkaroff had at least a dozen rooms to himself, with everything from a guest bedroom to a trophy room with artifacts and souvenirs from his time traveling the world.

Viktor didn't know anything about that, but he figured that Karkaroff was entitled to a few perks. After all, he worked hard enough scouring the continent for magical orphans to provide them with an education, and then protecting them and guiding them once they arrived. Viktor knew that Karkaroff's past was probably a constant source of guilt, and he had a lot of respect for a former Death Eater who tried to do good to balance out the evil of his past. Karkaroff was not what Viktor considered a strong man, but he did his best according to his conscience, and that meant a lot to Viktor. Weighed against all that Karkaroff did for Durmstrang as Headmaster, Viktor didn't care whether Karkaroff lived in luxury or not.

He swung the iron knocker at the entrance to Karkaroff's outer office, and the door swung open on its own. Viktor stepped inside. It was a familiar sight to most students, since it was almost impossible to avoid being called to the Headmaster's office at least once during six years at Durmstrang. Karkaroff sat behind his desk, leaning back in a plush armchair upholstered in green and black.

"Welcome, Viktor," said Karkaroff, one corner of his mouth quirked upward in a smile that Viktor had never seen from the Headmaster before.

"Headmaster," Viktor returned, inclining his head slightly. "I assume you asked me here because of the missing students? Is there any news?"

"All in good time," Karkaroff responded, amused. "I called you here to talk about you, in fact. You're quite the model student, you know. Top marks since your first year, and a Quidditch star to boot. All of the other students look up to you... everyone wants to be you."

"Sir..." Viktor said, confused. Where was this coming from?

"I've been watching you, Viktor, and learning about you. You're quite remarkable. At the age of thirteen, you organized a group of students to fight against would-be Dark wizards who outnumbered you almost three to one. Two years later, because of your efforts, anyone uttering the name of Grindelwald in Durmstrang does so only with disgust. _You_ did that, Viktor. It is quite impressive."

"Thank you, Headmaster, but is that really what's important right now? Two First Formers are missing, maybe dead, and we still don't know who or what is responsible! Shouldn't we-"

Karkaroff cut him off by raising his hand. "Don't concern yourself about them. The children are fine."

"What?"

"I said they're fine," Karkaroff repeated. He waved behind him, pointing at a small door nestled in an alcove in the stone wall. "They're back there, resting. I'll show you."

Viktor sighed in relief, tension he hadn't even known he was carrying melting away from him. "Oh, thank Merlin. How are they? Who took them, and how did you get them back?"

Karkaroff looked highly amused. "So many questions. What a conscientious young man you are... Please, follow me. I will bring you to them."

First Karkaroff, then Viktor walked through the door, stooping just a bit to fit under the stone lintel. In the next room there were two beds pushed up against the wall. Viktor recognized them as belonging to the Hospital Wing. Lying in the beds were two young boys, both attached to so many tubes and wires that it looked like they were being devoured by snakes. Deyan and Nikolai were fast asleep, with Deyan snoring loudly and Nikolai's long, blond hair falling over one eye.

"What..." Viktor stammered, "what happened to them? What are those tubes?"

Karkaroff sighed regretfully. "I ran into an unexpected complication while forcefully enlarging their chakra coils. I have to keep them sedated until I can stabilize their magical cores."

Viktor had no idea what that meant, but he could understand the gist. "Headmaster, did _you_ take them?"

His mind was working faster than his mouth, and even before he finished speaking he whirled around, hand flying to his wand... which wasn't in his robes. Karkaroff somehow had it in his hand, twirling it between his fingers. Before Viktor had time to figure out how that had happened he was bound in thick ropes, which tightened magically until he couldn't move an inch.

Viktor didn't understand what was happening. He was so shocked that he couldn't even feel fear as Karkaroff walked slowly towards him.

"You're not very observant," the Headmaster said, tilting his head to one side. "But then, you've never encountered anything like me before. Once I've taught you a few things, I think you will be very formidable indeed."

The ropes loosened slightly, allowing him to pull in a deep, ragged breath. "What are you doing, Headmaster?" he choked out.

Karkaroff shook his head, making a small sound of disappointment. "Still not quite there, hm? Then I'll have to make it clear to you. I'm not Karkaroff, Viktor. I'm merely borrowing your dear Headmaster's body... with no intention of returning it."

Viktor could only stare, horrified, as Karkaroff's eyes flashed a deep gold, and his pupils shifted into diamond shapes. Karkaroff - or whoever this monster was - grinned like a Cheshire cat. "Now you begin to see. Don't worry, Viktor. I'm not going to hurt you - or if I do, it will only be to make you stronger. Like these children behind me, who will soon be better than they ever were. I only want to bring them to their full potential."

Karkaroff patted Viktor's head, like he would a dog, and Viktor strained against the ropes in revulsion. "I have a proposition for you," said the man wearing Igor Karkaroff like a suit. "If you swear to obey me, then I will make you the first and greatest of my lieutenants in this world. I will show you magic beyond your wildest dreams, and grant you power enough to satisfy your every wish. If not, I will torture these students that you care for in front of your eyes. You will have to watch, knowing that it was in your power to keep them safe. Is that what you want?"

Viktor's captor pointed his wand at the defenceless children. "What is your decision?"

"Wait!" Viktor panted, knowing he was at the mercy of this terrifying creature. "You... you won't hurt them if I help you? You'll let them be?"

"Of course. Do you think I _want_ to damage my precious resources? Durmstrang will prosper under my leadership, and its students will govern the Wizarding World for generations to come. So what is to be, Viktor? Join me, and protect the people you care for? Or fight me, and watch helplessly as everything you cherish turns to ashes?"

Viktor stared into yellow eyes that burned with madness and an unfathomable, ancient cunning, and he knew there was nothing he could do. This person was far, far too powerful to resist. But he refused to look away, and fought against the ropes to stand just a little bit straighter as he answered.

"You leave me no choice. Promise me that you'll protect the students of Durmstrang, and I'll serve you."

Maybe, if Viktor played along, he would be able to escape and find help... the Ministry would surely send Aurors, if he showed them this memory...

But his captor seemed to read his thoughts, and smiled wryly. "You've made the right choice. Now to ensure your continued loyalty..." he pulled a second wand from beneath his robes - it was Karkaroff's wand, made of polished black oak. "You know," the man said thoughtfully, "until a little while ago I thought that the magic of this world was useless. Now that I can use it, I see a delightful number of possibilities. Magic offers some very elegant solutions to the problem of divided loyalties, for example. Tell me, Viktor... have you ever heard of the Unbreakable Vow?"

Viktor let out a grunt, feeling like a bludger had just smashed him in the ribs. This was it, then... he was owned now, body and soul.

"What _are_ you?" he breathed.

Karkaroff smiled, exuding smug satisfaction. "Call me Orochimaru," he declared. "I am the man who will rule this world."

There was no further use for resistance, and so Viktor did not resist. He dutifully repeated the words of the vow as Orochimaru spoke them. Despair overwhelmed him as the Unbreakable Vow settled into his flesh, powerful magic placing shackles on his very soul.

"Make sure to get your rest tonight," Orochimaru told Viktor, releasing the ropes that held him. "There is a lot to do this summer, starting tomorrow. We have an army to build."


	22. Hard Truths

**A/N: **A fairly short chapter for y'all, but I think I found a good place to end it. For all of you readers who wanted to see more of Orochimaru's conniving schemes: is this really what you wanted?! Because honestly, writing this is breaking my heart. Viktor Krum and Poliakoff are already two of my best buddies, and they're definitely not enjoying life right now. On the plus side, the Draco angst is pretty much over by the end of this chapter.

Next chapter is the Hogwarts Express, and then we're back at Hogwarts! We'll also continue with events at Durmstrang, so that you can see what kinds of trouble Orochimaru is cooking up. I welcome all kinds of feedback! For example, what do you think of Orochimaru? Is he making smart choices? What should be his first target after Durmstrang? As for the upcoming Hogwarts year, is there anything you'd particularly like to see? How do you picture Draco interacting with the Slytherins after his life-changing experiences? Are there any adventures you think Sarutobi and Lupin should have?

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Harry Potter or Naruto

**Chapter 21: Hard Truths**

Two weeks into his training, Draco had a good idea what hell must feel like. His body was only now beginning to adjust to the grueling pace set by Sarutobi, and still every waking hour was measured in pain. His muscles ached abominably, and every night his lungs burned from hours of running, dodging spells, and fighting.

At least he didn't have to ask Dobby to fill the tub with ice water every night – he had graduated to every other night. But no matter what Sarutobi demanded of him, Draco didn't complain. He tackled each new task with single-minded intensity, the memory of Orochimaru's burned face spurring him forward whenever he began to falter.

And Draco was certainly improving, though never as fast as he would have liked. Draco could hit targets from distances that would have seemed impossible only months ago, and track multiple targets in motion. His Diffindo could sever a thick tree branch from thirty yards, and only a few days ago Draco had produced a Reducto curse that had demolished a large boulder, leaving nothing more than a pile of fine gravel. His spells seemed to be growing more powerful, fueled by his determination and the deep reservoir of his hate.

Draco's days fell into a familiar rhythm that removed the need for thought. His world contracted until there was nothing but the next assignment, the next spell, the next challenge. He worked his body far beyond its limits, and his body responded more quickly than he could have imagined.

The only other souls that Draco saw were Professor Sarutobi and Dobby. His teacher ate every meal with Draco, talking very little, but always there to answer any questions that Draco had about his training. The house-elf who was Draco's last link to his former life was also a constant presence, never intruding but constantly available with anything that Draco might need. He tended the numerous injuries that Draco suffered during his training, and he kept the cottage spotless and the two wizards well fed.

That evening, during dinner, Sarutobi seemed to watch Draco more carefully than usual. Draco could often feel the old man's eyes upon him, but his teacher didn't say anything. They often ate together in comfortable silence, but tonight whatever it was Sarutobi wasn't saying weighed down the atmosphere. Finally, Draco couldn't stand it any more.

"What is it?" Draco snapped, disconcerted. "Do I have something on my face, or are you just trying to annoy me?"

He didn't make much of an effort to speak politely to Professor Sarutobi anymore. As long as Draco didn't complain and followed orders without question, Sarutobi didn't care if he was abrasive or sarcastic. If Draco was honest with himself, it was sometimes refreshing to be able to say what he felt, when he felt, without covering up his emotions. Nothing could be more different from the Pureblood world in which he had been raised, where nothing was ever said straight out. It was all maneuvering for position, shadow wars fought with words coated in honey to hide the taste of poison.

Sarutobi took a bite of Dobby's signature stew, chewing slowly, maddeningly, before swallowing. "I was arguing with myself," he said at last. "There is some information you don't yet know, and I wasn't sure if you were ready to hear it. But others disagree, and in spite of myself I find their reasons persuasive."

"Do you enjoy being cryptic?" Draco demanded. "If there's something I need to know, just tell me. Don't beat around the bush and stare at me like I've sprouted another head."

"I can understand your impatience. However, the information is not mine to tell. Dobby, would you go outside and check if Harry has arrived yet?"

The house elf nodded so vigorously he almost fell over, beaming all the while. "Dobby will check right away, Professor." He disappeared with a sharp _crack_.

Draco was sure he had misheard. "Potter?! What could that waste of space possibly have to say to me?"

Sarutobi looked faintly amused. "You may not have noticed during the past year, but Harry and his friends have been training with me. Whatever you may have thought about them before, they are certainly not wasting space now. In fact, you have quite a ways to go if you hope to catch up to my other students."

That stopped Draco cold, for a moment. He hadn't realized that Professor Sarutobi had been teaching Potter, and he probably should have. There was that incident at the meeting of the Dueling Club last year, when Harry and his friends had beaten the Slytherins without much trouble. He should have guessed they were getting extra training.

But despite his spark of jealousy, Draco still didn't know why Harry would want to talk to him.

From outside came a high-pitched squeal that could only have come from Dobby. Then the house elf shouted, "Harry Potter! Dobby is so glad to see you!"

Sarutobi raised one eyebrow, watching Draco with an unreadable expression. "If I'm not mistaken, that would be the Boy Who Lived. Although to be fair, that title applies to you now as much as it ever did to him. I would advise you to rethink your animosity towards Harry Potter, Draco. You have more in common with him than you think, and he would make a much better ally than enemy. Think about that, while you listen to what he has to say."

Draco stood up from the table, not quite acknowledging Sarutobi's words. "When did Dobby meet Potter?" he muttered to himself as he left the cottage. Dobby was the _Malfoy's_ house elf, and as far as Draco knew he had never set foot outside of Malfoy Manor.

Harry Potter, Draco's nemesis of his first two years at Hogwarts, was hopping around Dobby, throwing fake punches that the house elf returned with more enthusiasm than skill. When he saw Draco, Harry froze, his hands falling to his sides.

The sight of his house elf playing with Potter made Draco unaccountably angry, and he broke the silence with his best sneer. "Potter. What's the matter – did you get lost?"

A range of emotions flashed through Potter's green eyes, and Draco couldn't identify any of them. "I came to speak with you, Malfoy," he said, quiet and serious. "Professor Sarutobi recalibrated a Portkey so I could come tonight."

"What is it, then, Potter? I don't have all night." In spite of his harsh words, Draco was starting to feel a little uneasy. This was a different Harry Potter than the one he was familiar with – he wasn't reacting to any of Draco's jibes, and he wasn't offering any insults of his own.

Potter sighed, keeping his hands in his pockets. "I… I guess it starts the night your parents died. Do you… have you heard how your father died?"

Draco opened his mouth, but nothing came out. "Huh?" was all he could say, poleaxed.

"Your father," Potter repeated. "Did Professor Sarutobi tell you how he died?"

"Orochimaru killed him," Draco said instantly, but that wasn't quite what Sarutobi had said. Although Draco had been deep in the throes of grief when he'd heard of his father's death, Sarutobi's words were still clear in his mind. "Or… he said Orochimaru _sent_ him to his death."

Draco had assumed, without thinking much about it, that this meant that Orochimaru had killed his father. But now he wasn't so sure.

"That's right," Harry replied, his tone wavering between hesitation and determination. "The night Orochimaru murdered your mother, he tried to kill me too. He sent your father to Hogwarts with orders to bring me to him, so he could steal my body and my magic and wear it like a cloak."

For a moment, the disgust that Draco felt mirrored the expression on Harry's face.

"Your father made sure to get you to safety first," Harry continued. "But once you left, he attacked the teachers when they wouldn't give me up."

Harry took a deep breath, and Draco stifled a sudden, inexplicable urge to cover his ears. "Malfoy, I'm so sorry," Harry said in a rush. "Your father activated some kind of magic that Orochimaru gave him, and it made him crazy. He wasn't satisfied with me anymore – he was going to hurt people. We had to fight him. The person who killed him… it was me."

Hate surged within Draco, raw and jagged, until it seemed like nothing else existed. His wand was in his hand before he knew it, and it swung forward as if of its own accord-

_Crack!_

Draco's wand went flying, torn from his grasp by a force he wasn't strong enough to resist. But Harry hadn't moved, not even to draw his own wand, so _how_…

Then everything became clear, when Draco saw Dobby standing before Harry Potter, like a floppy-eared guard dog, his finger pointing at Draco like a weapon.

"Dobby's heart breaks for poor Master," Dobby said, ears quivering violently, "but Master shall not harm Harry Potter!"

Draco was furious, but even more than that, he felt betrayed. "Dobby!" he shouted, convulsively tightening his grip on his wand. "Why are you protecting him? You work for _me_! I _order_ you to stand aside."

The little house elf drew himself up to his full height. "Dobby is a free elf. Dobby received clothes weeks ago, when Dobby was responsible for changing and feeding Master."

Draco could only stare, the revelation momentarily distracting him from his anger. Sarutobi appeared next to him before he could regain control, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder.

"Do not blame Dobby for stopping you," Sarutobi said quietly, but firmly. "He just saved your life."

Draco shook off his teacher's hand, furious at Sarutobi's interference. "What? I wouldn't have lost!"

Sarutobi shook his head sadly. "And have you forgotten about your Vow so soon? Harry came to you in peace, and has neither attacked nor defended. If you had actually managed to land a curse, it would have meant your death. The Unbreakable Vow does not make allowances for your emotions."

Ice flooded Darco's veins as he realized what a close call that had been. In his anger, he had completely forgotten about the Unbreakable Vow he'd sworn. Never had he regretted his decision more. He glared bloody murder at Potter, who had the gall to look _sorry_ for him, of all things!

"Just you wait, Potter," Draco snarled through gritted teeth. "This isn't over."

"Try to think clearly," Sarutobi interjected, moving to block Harry from Draco's view. "Your father's death is _not_ Harry's fault. Lucius knew when he left that night that he had no chance of coming back alive. He went to his death knowingly, all so that he could protect you."

Draco shook his head, as if denying everything could bring his father back. He swiped the back of his hand hard across his face, drying the unshed tears that he refused to let fall. He couldn't stay here – he had to get away. One more second and he would lash out at Sautobi, who had trapped him; Dobby, who had abandoned him; or Harry, who had killed his father…

Draco choked back a sob and started running, to where he didn't know.

Harry's voice rang out behind him. "Malfoy!"

Draco could just make out Sarutobi's lower tones, before he passed out of hearing range. "Let him go, Harry. You can't help him right now."

Draco didn't stop running until his legs felt like lead weights and his lungs burned. He collapsed by a small stream, wide enough that he couldn't jump across it. There he sat, staring at the water and trying very hard not to think.

That was where Dobby found him several hours later, as the sun was disappearing behind the foothills far away to the west. The house elf approached slowly, Draco's wand held out like a peace offering.

"Dobby came to bring Master back, in case he was lost," Dobby said. "And to bring Master his wand."

Draco snatched his wand back, angry words bursting from his lips. "Why did you even come back? You said it yourself – you're free. I'm not your master anymore, so just go away! Why don't you serve your precious _Potter_, since you seem to like him so much!"

Dobby flinched as though Draco's words were stones. "Dobby will not abandon Master Draco! Dobby won't let him fight the snake man alone." The elf's ears vibrated with fear, but he sounded painfully earnest.

"Then why didn't you help before?" Draco demanded, the suppressed memories of that terrible night resurfacing. "When Orochimaru killed Mother, where were you? You've always hated us, haven't you? You stayed away on purpose."

Dobby drew himself to his full height, filled with a fragile but unshaken pride. "Maybe Dobby didn't like Master or Mistress, but Dobby would have fought for them. Mistress made Dobby iron his ears, so Dobby couldn't hear when the snake man came. If Dobby had heard, Dobby would have fought."

The irony wasn't lost on Draco. If his mother hadn't ordered Dobby punished, the house elf might have been able to distract Orochimaru long enough for Narcissa to escape with Draco. Suddenly the whole thing seemed so ridiculous that he just had to laugh.

He laughed and laughed, until his stomach hurt and his eyes stung. Dobby drew closer, his wide eyes concerned. Rising up and pushing past Draco's anger was another emotion: shame.

"Why did you stay with me?" Draco demanded. "Why, when you don't even like me? I mean, I ordered you to punish yourself more than Mother ever did."

Dobby cocked his head to one side, honestly puzzled, as if he didn't understand why Draco was even asking such a question. "Because Master Draco has no one else."

Draco had to look away, and the surge of gratitude he felt was almost enough to wash away his shame.

"Dobby can't promise he will follow Master Draco's every order," Dobby said, gulping loudly at his own daring. "But Dobby promises never to abandon Young Master."

Draco stared at the elf, whose ears quivered with a quiet dignity, and he felt very small indeed. "Thanks…" he whispered, so quietly it might have been the breeze ghosting along the riverbank. "And Dobby… please call me Draco."

oOoOo

It had barely been a day since Viktor's world had gone utterly insane, and already he wished for death to release him from the nightmare that his life had become. Orochimaru's first order was to gather the Fifth and Sixth Formers attending Durmstrang during the summer – they were the oldest students on campus, and the most skilled. Among them were the Head Boy, Mikhail Ardelean, and Viktor's best friend, Borislav Poliakoff.

Viktor could have warned them. Instead of bringing them to Karkaroff's office, he could have told them to run away. It would have meant his instant death, as the Vow he'd sworn would have killed him immediately. And even if they'd believed him, could they possibly escape someone as powerful as Orochimaru? If they ran, they would probably die as quickly as Viktor. The smart option, indeed, the _only_ option if Viktor wanted to keep his friends and fellow students alive, was to do as Orochimaru ordered.

That didn't stop his heart from breaking, as he led seven of Durmstrang's best and brightest to their doom.

"Has Karkaroff found the children?" Mikhail asked gruffly as they ascended the staircase to the fourth floor. "Why hasn't he told me anything?" As Head Boy, Mikhail was jealous of his authority, and he especially resented the way that the Headmaster had favored Viktor because of his magical skill and celebrity status.

_That won't be a problem anymore, _Viktor thought wearily. Karkaroff wouldn't be guilty of favoritism ever again – or anything else for that matter.

"You'll hear it from the Headmaster directly," Viktor replied, ignoring the confused murmurs of the other boys.

Boris watched him shrewdly. "Viktor, is everything all right? You seem a little… tense."

Vikto steadfastly avoided his friend's gaze, knowing that he couldn't hide the despair in his eyes. Boris put a hand on his shoulder, prepared to shake the truth out of him if necessary, but by then the group had reached the Headmaster's outer office.

"Enter," came Karkaroff's voice, sounding for all the world as if this was just another casual meeting between a teacher and his pupils. Viktor shivered.

"I see you made it," Orochimaru said genially as they came in. "I wondered if Viktor would find all of you…" his appraising glance told Viktor that the Headmaster had known he might break his Vow to warn his friends.

Viktor flushed, hating the feeling of total helplessness that this… _creature_… induced in him.

With true Durmstrang discipline, the students lined up in single file in front of Orochimaru, their curiosity clear but restrained. There were seven of them, not including Viktor – four Fifth Formers and three Sixth Formers.

As he'd been instructed by Orochimaru, Viktor stood behind them and slightly to the side, out of the way.

"I have called you here today for a purpose," Orochimaru began, pacing up and down in the way that Karkaroff once had. "A grand purpose, the likes of which this world has not seen since the days of Voldemort or Grindelwald."

Several of the students gasped at the Dark Wizards' names.

"I aim to create a world that is safe for the practice of magic," Orochimaru continued, unperturbed. "The first step on this road is to turn the students of Durmstrang into a proper army. The eight of you, if you are willing, will be my lieutenants, my most trusted warriors and leaders. What do you say?"

Boris spoke first, the normally exuberant boy speaking slowly and deliberately. "I say that if you're forming an army, you must be planning a war. Against whom, Headmaster? The Ministry of Magic? The Muggles?"

"Certainly the Ministry," Orochimaru replied approvingly, as if Poliakoff had said something particularly clever. "Perhaps the Muggles in time, although they have lived in ignorance for so many centuries, I think we can leave them to their own devices for the time being. So what do you think?"

"I think you've gone mad," Boris replied, drawing his wand and twisting to face Viktor.  
>"Viktor, let's-"<p>

But he had no time to finish the sentence, because Orochimaru appeared before him instantly and sent him flying into the wall with a backhanded blow. The six remaining Durmstrang students yelled in surprise, some reaching for their wands. They never had a chance.

Orochimaru flung out his left hand, and dozens of snakes erupted from the sleeve of his robe. They trapped each of the Durmstrang students, pinning their arms to their sides so that their wands dropped uselessly to the floor. With countless sharp fangs inches from their exposed necks, the students didn't make another sound.

"This is all very sudden, I know," said Orochimaru apologetically, as if he had just shown up unexpectedly to tea. "But I have no patience for fools. You must adjust to your new reality. And the nature of that reality is simply this: you will serve me, or you will die."

Then Orochimaru explained to the Durmstrang students what he had told Viktor the day before. The horror on their faces was almost comical as he told them how he had taken over Karkaroff's body. More than one looked about to vomit, but no one wanted any sudden motions to aggravate the snakes that kept them trapped.

Viktor only half listened to the speech, since he had heard it all before. Instead, he kept a firm hand on Boris, who was shaking with rage and looked like he wanted to make a grab for his wand. Viktor didn't want his friend to die, so he kept a strong grip on Boris' shoulder.

"Perhaps you need one more demonstration, to illustrate exactly how serious I am in pursuing my goal," Orochimaru said, after changing his pupils to the creepy diamond shapes of serpentine black and yellow. "Borislav… Poliakoff, is it? He was braver than the rest of you, willing to fight before he even knew what was at stake. For that he shall be rewarded, but he must also be punished for presuming to raise a hand against me. Viktor, if you would."

Viktor's head snapped around, and he stared at Orochimaru with growing horror. Was he really ordering him to… of course he was. This was a test for Viktor, as well as a demonstration for the rest of them. And Viktor had no choice. He only hoped that Boris could come to forgive him.

Viktor raised his wand and took a step forward, so that when he turned to Boris, Orochimaru couldn't see his expression. He mouthed the words, "_I'm sorry_," as Boris held his head high in defiance. Krum thought of Orochimaru, drawing on his hatred for the monster, and found it astonishingly easy to perform an Unforgivable Curse.

"_Crucio._"

Boris held out for a full minute before the screams ripped from his throat. His fingernails cut into his palms as he clenched his fists. The sounds hurt Viktor worse than any scourge, and his jaw ached from how hard his teeth were clenched.

Orochimaru drew out Boris' agony for two more minutes, before finally telling Viktor to stop. Boris slumped over, eyelids flickering wildly. Viktor raised him up, eyes silently begging for forgiveness.

His friend clasped his hands, fingers tightening convulsively. "You curse like a girl," he whispered hoarsely. There was understanding mingled with pain in his eyes. Viktor almost laughed. The men of Bulgaria did not break easily.

"This was a lesson more than a punishment," Orochimaru said calmly. "I am proud of you, Borislav, for you show much courage. But learn from Viktor's example, and cease your struggles. I am as far beyond your reach as are the stars – in fact, I have left humanity behind. Those who serve me will be rewarded, but my enemies will die without exception, without mercy, alongside their family and friends."

"We have no choice," Viktor said softly, looking from Boris to the other Durmstrang students and back. "He'll kill the orphans if we don't serve him. It's the only way to keep them alive."

"So what is it to be?" Orochimaru asked. "Do you want to be the ant? Or the boot?"

Mikhail was the first to promise his allegiance, the blond Romanian muddling his words in his haste to proclaim his willingness to serve. One by one, the rest followed his example. Boris was the last, watching Viktor instead of Orochimaru. But he could assess the situation just as well as Viktor. He too bowed his head, however reluctantly.

"Then I welcome you all," Orochimaru declared grandiosely, turning his snakes to smoke with a single flick of his hand. "The eight of you will be my lieutenants, the best and brightest of my forces. I have much to teach you all, but first I require a demonstration of your loyalty. Remember this moment in years to come, for you are the first to swear the Threefold Vow."

With Viktor guiding them like a sheepdog, Orochimaru's seven new recruits formed a loose circle. Orochimaru took out his wand and directed them all to place their right hands in the center of the circle.

"Now repeat after me," he declared, a reddish glow coming from his wand. "I will obey Orochimaru and those lieutenants he places above me swiftly and without delay."

Seven voices rose in unison, and a rope of fire flared bright around their conjoined hands before disappearing, signaling the successful application of the Unbreakable Vow.

"I will not aid Orochimaru's enemies unless ordered to do so by a superior officer."

Again the muted chorus, and the flash of light that Viktor couldn't bear to watch.

"And lastly… I will not divulge military or magical secrets to anyone not cleared to receive that information."

This time, the light from the spell was so bright that several students were forced to shield their eyes.

Orochimaru watched his new recruits with satisfaction. "And so it begins. Today you have joined a brotherhood that will shake the Wizarding World to its foundations. Surely such a group of warriors needs a name, so that the history books will know how to refer to you…"

Orochimaru raised an eyebrow, considering. Then he smiled like a fox, all teeth, his eyes lighting up. "I have it. You shall henceforth be known as the Eight Dragons. Collectively, you are Durmstrang's Dragon Corps. The first among you, who shall command you in my absence, is Viktor Krum. He is the First Dragon."

From his position off to the side, Viktor could see the expressions of all of his fellow students. And what he saw made his heart sink. Boris alone looked disgusted, as if Orochimaru had offered him a bag of dung that he had no choice but to accept. But some seemed curious, even a little proud, and Mikhail watched Orochimaru with a hungry light in his eyes. Viktor also noticed the angry looks Mikhail sent in his direction – it seemed as though the Head Boy resented having to obey Viktor in the new hierarchy.

In a sudden flash of insight, Viktor understood. _This_ was Orochimaru's true plan. He wasn't going to enslave everyone with the Unbreakable Vow – no, that was just a preliminary measure. Already, by giving his oath a fancy name, the so-called "Threefold Vow," Orochimaru was turning it into a _privilege_. And this Dragon Corps nonsense was even more effective – already, some of the students were standing straighter, wanting to believe that they were as special as Orochimaru told them they could be.

Orochimaru was offering power and the promise of distinction, both extremely effective lures. Viktor had no doubt that Mikhail, for one, was well on his way to serving Orochimaru with all his heart. If things continued like this, Viktor and Boris might soon belong to a small minority of students who served Orochimaru unwillingly.

The real battle, Viktor felt certain, would be fought in the hearts and minds of Durmstrang's students. And with Orochimaru playing to their egos, giving them a taste of the kind of power they had only ever read about, Viktor had a sinking feeling that they were going to lose.

Orochimaru's voice broke through his bleak thoughts. "Attend me. There is much to be done, and little time in which to do it."

Orochimaru gestured to Viktor and Boris. "I have a special task for you two, since you've already demonstrated your bravery and ability to think on your feet. You're going on a weekend trip to the Ukraine, where you'll find the Council of Vampires. I have a message for you to deliver."

Viktor met Boris' eyes, and frowned. Vampires… that didn't sound good.

"As for the rest of you," Orochimaru said to the other students, "who can tell me the location of the nearest dragon colony?"

Mikhail almost fell over himself in his haste to speak first. "There's one in Romania, only a few hours from here by broom. I grew up in the nearest village - we could hear them roaring when the wind was from the east."

Orochimaru licked his lips with anticipation. "Full marks, Mr. Ardelean. You deserve a reward - how do you feel about a school field trip to Romania? You can show me exactly where this colony resides."

Mikhail smiled hesitantly, a sight that filled Viktor with fear. "Of course, Headmaster – I mean, Lord Orochimaru, sir."

"I'll leave the rest of your instructions with the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher," Orochimaru told them. With a jolt, Viktor realized this meant that Orochimaru must have already suborned the professors. The extent of his control over Durmstrang was becoming clearer with each passing second.

But Viktor couldn't spare much thought for worrying. He had to spend the rest of the night preparing in the library, if he wanted to bring Boris and himself alive out of vampire territory.

Orochimaru rubbed his hands together gleefully. "This concludes the first meeting of the Durmstrang Dragon Corps. Next time, I'll see about getting you some proper uniforms and symbols of rank. But that will have to wait until after I get back from Romania."

He grinned at Mikhail, whose excitement looked to be fast overpowering his fear.

"After all," Orochimaru chuckled, "what use is a Dragon Corps without dragons?"

oOoOo

The next morning, at Draco's request, Sarutobi used a Portkey to bring both of them to where Harry, Ron, and Hermione were training. Sarutobi led him through the twisting hallways of the manor house that belonged to the last of the Blacks, watching Draco with a knowing smile. Harry and his teammates were training with Sirius Black, but Draco didn't have time to worry about the supposed mass murderer. He had something to say to Potter.

As he walked towards the Boy Who Lived, he noticed Hermione and Ron move to take flanking positions, their wands ready to cast. The tactical awareness that Sarutobi had drilled into Draco for weeks approved of the decision, since it would be virtually impossible to take out all three of them before they could counter-attack.

Potter was the only one who didn't move, simply watching Draco approach.

"Potter," Draco said, when only a few feet separated them. "I'm only going to say this once. My father was a Malfoy, and that's more than just a name. Orochimaru forced him into servitude, which, for a Malfoy, is a fate worse than death. When you… when you killed him, you freed him of that burden. As the sole remaining scion of the House of Malfoy, I acknowledge the debt that is owed you. If it is ever in my power, I shall repay that debt."

Potter was dumbstruck, but recovered quickly. "The House of Potter humbly thanks you, and hopes that our alliance may be long and prosperous," he said, his slightly crooked smile giving his words an ironic twist that Malfoy couldn't help appreciating.

Malfoy wasn't sure what to say next, with everyone watching him and Harry so closely. But he wanted to move past this awkward moment as soon as possible, so he had to say something. "I, uh… see that you're training. I will join you."

A second later, he wondered if he shouldn't have asked instead. Then Ron Weasley stepped forward, and Draco was glad to see that there was no pity in those eyes. Only understanding, and perhaps a hint of respect.

"We don't have time to waste with pampered little princesses," Weasley said with mock sternness. "You'd better not hold us back, Malfoy!"

Draco didn't think he'd ever been so happy to be insulted. He mustered up his best sneer. "I believe that's my line, Weasel."

He was walking over to take his place in line, where presumably Sirius Black would give him his instructions, when Potter spoke once more.

"Ma- Draco," he said, stumbling over Draco's name. "We were all there when your father died, so we heard his last words. They were, 'Tell Draco I'm sorry.' All he wanted, all he ever wanted, was to protect you."

Draco's voice caught in his throat, but he fought to keep it steady. "Then he must be happy now, knowing that I can protect myself."

Weasley, bless his freckled little face, broke the tension with a disbelieving laugh. "I don't know, Malfoy - you're gonna have to back that up!"

Draco raised his wand, surprised by the smile he felt spreading across his face. "With pleasure."


	23. The Hogwarts Express

**A/N: **And we're rolling! The year is beginning, and what better way to kick it off than with a Dementor attack? Let me know what you think, especially about the way the characters are interacting. I'm trying to emulate Rowling, who does a great job of capturing the interactions between all of the side characters, not just the Golden Trio. Does it work, not work, fail entirely? I'm all ears!

Lastly, I took some creative license with a certain character's Patronus, but since canon leaves it to our imaginations, it shouldn't be too much of a stretch.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Harry Potter or Naruto

**Chapter 22: The Hogwarts Express**

The day before the Hogwarts Express was to take them to school, Harry and Hermione received permission from their guardians to stay with the Weasleys, who would take them to the train in the morning. To Harry's surprise and pleasure, Vernon still seemed reluctant to do anything that might anger Professor Sarutobi. He gave his permission without any trouble at all, merely a heavy grunt that was muffled by his walrus moustache.

So it was that Harry and Hermione arrived at the Burrow with all of their school things, happy to reunite with the boisterous family of redheads. Mrs. Weasley ambushed both of them with a crushing embrace before they had recovered from the dizzying effects of Floo Powder.

At their mother's urging, Fred and George took the newcomers' luggage. They played it up, bowing obsequiously, and holding out their hands for tips.

"None of that nonsense!" Mrs. Weasley said sharply. "Why can't you be more like your brother? I don't see Ron shirking his chores, even though _he's_ working himself to exhaustion every day!"

Ron, who had just entered the kitchen from outside, blushed deep red.

"Watch out, Mum," George shouted over his shoulder as he lugged Harry's trunks to the stairs. "You'll give him a swelled head!"

"That's right," Fred agreed, sticking his head around the doorframe for a moment. "He's already got an Award For Special Services to the School. If you praise him too much, he'll get worse than Percy!"

Ron scowled at his brothers, but contented himself with mouthing dire threats under his breath. Mrs. Weasley left the kitchen, muttering something about "delinquent rascals."

Harry clapped Ron on the back. "Are they still giving you trouble about that?" he asked.

At the Leaving Feast last year, Dumbledore had awarded Harry, Ron, and Hermione Hogwarts' highest honor, to thank them for defending the students against Lucius. When Ron had received his reward, Harry could have sworn he was flying. As the youngest of six brothers, always looking to catch up or distinguish himself in some way, Ron had certainly managed to make a name for himself. Not even Bill, who had been Head Boy, had won such an award.

It was a mark of Ron's growing maturity that he had packed away his award immediately after the feast, never looking at it again that Harry could remember. Ron understood, as all of them did, that awards weren't important any more.

"They've been fairly decent about it, actually," Ron said, giving the twins their due. "Instead, they've been at me all the time to tell them who we were fighting in the Great Hall. I must have told them a hundred times that it was classified, and they should ask Dumbledore if they wanted to know. Finally, Dad had to have a word with them. It was one of the few times I've ever heard him raise his voice." Ron whistled, remembering. "He was scary."

"It serves them right," Hermione said fiercely. "They should have taken your word for it!"

Ron looked a bit taken aback by her vehemence, but pleased nevertheless. "Well, it did the trick. Now they only take the mickey out of me once or twice a week, 'so I don't get too full of myself,' they say. For the most part, they're holed up in their room, doing Merlin knows what. Their door has some suspicious new scorch marks, and every now and again some _strange_ smells waft downstairs."

Before they could go upstairs to their rooms, Mr. Weasley asked the three of them to come into the living room. The middle-aged wizard was more serious than Harry had ever seen him, the lines around his eyes more pronounced, as if he had undergone much more stress than usual lately. But then, even with the little that Harry knew about Orochimaru and Voldemort, there was good reason for Mr. Weasley to look harried.

Molly was waiting for them in the living room as well, a worried frown on her face. Under her arm was the Weasley's special clock, which showed the faces of all the members of the Weasley household and what they were doing. But today, none of the hands pointed to "home" – according to the clock, every one of the Weasleys was currently in mortal peril. Perhaps Harry shouldn't have been surprised, but it gave him a nasty shock nevertheless.

"We wanted to talk with you three alone," Mr. Weasley began, watching as they took in the sight of the clock. Hermione quickly stifled a gasp, but Ron only looked resigned. He had doubtless seen this before. "Ever since the end of last year, our clock has been like this. So no matter what the Ministry says, we know the truth – we're already at war."

"It's a terrible thing," Mrs. Weasley agreed, her face drawn. "We'd hoped that our children would never have to live through the horrors we saw. But the world doesn't rearrange itself to suit our preferences."

"Dumbledore has briefed us about the role you three played in protecting Hogwarts," Mr. Weasley went on. "As members of the Order of the Phoenix, we also know about Orochimaru."

Hermione spoke up, barely refraining from raising her hand as if she were in class. "The Order of the Phoenix?"

"We fought against He Who Must Not Be Named in the last war," said Mrs. Weasley wearily. "Dumbledore was our leader. Harry, your parents were members, as were the parents of many of your classmates. Neville Longbottom and Susan Bones, just to name a few. We fought against the Death Eaters, although we were drastically outnumbered near the end. Then Harry… well, you know."

Harry shrugged uncomfortably. He knew how that story ended.

"The Order has been reinstated," Mr. Weasley said softly. "Dumbledore is warning everyone that he can trust, so that even if the Ministry isn't prepared, we'll be ready. We wanted to tell the three of you, because you should know that you have allies. We can't keep you away from the battles to come – and considering the events of last year, it would be stupid of us to try – but we want you to know there are adults besides Dumbledore and Professor Sarutobi on whom you can rely."

"Not only that," said Molly, "but be especially careful this year. The Ministry is targeting Dumbledore at the worst possible time, which puts you – not to mention the rest of the students – in a very vulnerable position. With Orochimaru, Voldermort, and the Ministry all working to consolidate their own power, it's entirely possible that Dumbledore will be fighting on three different fronts. There are too many variables to even think about controlling all of them."

There was a long silence, as everyone stared at Mrs. Weasley. "Ron," Hermione said speculatively, "did you by any chance learn to play Wizard's Chess from your Mum?"

Ron grinned proudly. "You bet I did. She still beats me at it, too, though I can't get her to play much these days."

Molly blushed delicately. "That's enough of that nonsense," she said gruffly. "We just… wanted to warn you, even though we know you're probably tired of hearing it. This year will be more dangerous than your last two years combined, and you mustn't be overconfident. Keep your friends close, and don't give the new Defence professor any excuses to label you enemies of the Ministry."

"Just call her what she is, Mum," Ron said, glowering at an imaginary Dolores Umbridge. "A filthy Ministry spy."

Hermione nodded agreement. "But one with all the power of the Ministry behind her," she added. "Don't worry, Mrs. Weasley – we'll be careful. We promise."

There was a long, tense silence, finally broken by Mr. Weasley. "Well, since that's taken care of, dear, why don't we gather up the rest of the offspring. There's still shopping to be done in Diagon Alley."

Hermione looked thrilled. "Ooh, I haven't been to Flourish and Blotts in ages! And this year, I think I'm going to get a familiar. Maybe a cat, they're so much nicer than owls…"

"I need to get a new pet, too," Ron mused. His face darkened. "Definitely _not_ a rat." Hermione placed a hand on his shoulder sympathetically. Harry spared a moment to imagine using one of Sarutobi's nastiest curses on Peter Pettigrew – it was an immensely satisfying daydream.

Despite the promise of danger on the horizon, the trip to Diagon Alley turned out to be immensely enjoyable. The twins took it upon themselves to drive Percy up the wall, but they apologized to him later by buying him a new quill. Ron later shared with Harry and Hermione that Percy had been spending an inordinate amount of time holed up in his room, writing letters that he refused to show anyone. No doubt the twins were setting him up with a quill that had been charmed in some dastardly way.

The third year Gryffindors picked up their spellbooks from Flourish and Blotts, including three copies of the assigned Defence text: _Dark Arts Defence: Basics for Beginners_. Hermione took one look through the Table of Contents and snorted derisively. "This is utter bollocks," she declared. "There's nothing here but theory! If you didn't have a teacher actually _demonstrating_ the spells, you'd never know how to perform anything in here. This book is worthless!"

Ron opened his own copy, his eyebrows rising in disbelief. "For a worthless book, it sure costs a lot… You know, I reckon Umbridge doesn't want us learning anything practical this year. It would make sense, if the Ministry is worried about Dumbledore using us like weapons."

Harry had wandered further down the Defence shelves, and returned with three copies of a new book with the promising title, _Practical Defence Against the Dark Arts_. "What do you say to a bit of supplemental reading, mates?" he grinned, offering Ron and Hermione a copy. "I'll dip into my parents' account – I doubt they'd forgive me if I failed to provide the means to further our education. I picked a Fifth Year text, so there ought to be plenty of spells in there that we haven't learned yet."

To Harry's relief, Ron accepted the book without a murmur about accepting charity. He knew it would only waste time, and Harry wasn't about to compromise. Hermione ran a finger down the cover, which featured a silver shield deflecting a green curse. "Now _this_ is more like it," she said with satisfaction.

They went to the pet store next, with Ginny joining them after a quick stop at Madam Malkin's. They looked at countless familiars – owls, cats, toads, and even a few snakes – before Hermione settled on one she liked.

"His name is Crookshanks," said the store clerk, glaring at orange tabby with an astonishing amount of dislike. "He's part kneazel, and one tough bas- er, cookie."

Hermione was clearly smitten, though Harry thought Crookshanks was a bit of an ugly beast, with a squashed face and shrewd, beady little eyes. "He's such a sweetie," she cooed, echoed by Ginny, who also thought Crookshanks was the cutest thing since miniature ponies.

Harry and Ron traded knowing glances, mouthing "girls" in unison – but being very careful that said girls couldn't overhear them.

"What the hell, mate," Ron shrugged, "he looks like he can take care of himself. Look here, furball," Ron said, shaking a finger with mock sternness at the tabby. Crookshanks hissed at being so addressed. "You look after my friend, you hear? And if you ever see a rat missing a toe on its forepaw, you bite its head off. Understood?"

Harry could have sworn that Crookshanks nodded, and he wondered whether Hermione hadn't made the right choice after all. Ron eventually gravitated towards the owls, lingering for a moment by a regal-looking barn owl with vicious talons. "Are there any hawks?" he asked the store clerk wistfully.

Then Ginny called him over, pointing to a tiny owl in an oversized cage. It was zooming about like a dervish, crashing into the bars only to fly to the other side and repeat the process.

"Why would I want that one?" Ron demanded. "He's mental!"

"He's cute!" Ginny insisted, pouting adorably. Ron argued half-heartedly, but Harry knew in advance what the outcome would be. Ron might act tough around Ginny and give her a hard time, but when it came down to it, she had him wrapped around her finger.

The four of them made their way lazily to Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor, Ron and Ginny arguing the whole way about his new owl's name. Ginny was trying to get him to name the owl "Pigwidgeon," of all things, which Harry thought was positively cruel of her.

Once inside the ice cream shop, Harry insisted that he buy his friends their favorite flavors. Ginny looked aside when he handed her a double scoop of mint chocolate chip, her cheeks flaming. Harry stared, a little puzzled. He had no clue why she was acting like that, but he really hoped she wouldn't turn back into the mousy girl from last year.

He really liked the Ginny he had seen develop after the incident with Riddle's diary – she had grown more confident, especially when she argued with her brothers, and her spellwork in the Dueling Club had been impressive. Harry wanted to be friends with the Ginny who had flushed the Dark Lord down the loo, not the Ginny who blushed and stammered for no apparent reason. Harry shrugged as he turned his attention to his own ice cream. Maybe Ginny wasn't feeling well or something – he was sure she would be back to normal soon.

They were soon joined by the Percy and the twins – Percy was yelling at the twins about something to do with a letter and "that blasted quill," but Harry tuned them out in order to enjoy his dessert.

By the end of the day they were all exhausted, but completely satisfied and carrying bags that were much heavier than when they'd arrived. Mrs. Weasley took them all back to the Burrow for dinner, where they stuffed their faces with what seemed like enough food to feed all of Gryffindor House for a week.

As Harry was wearily climbing the stairs to Ron's room, wanting nothing more than to fall into a soft bed, he found Fred and George waiting to ambush him.

"Mr. Potter," George said, sweeping him a courtly bow. "If you would please follow us."

Harry looked at them blankly. "Do I have a choice?"

"I'm afraid not, dear boy," Fred replied breezily. "You can either come with us, or tomorrow morning we Vanish your robes and let you ride the Hogwarts Express in your bloomers."

"You've persuaded me," Harry said, sending one last, longing look at the door. "Lead on."

The twins led Harry to their room one level up, and just as Ron had said, their door sported several intriguing scorch marks.

"Be welcome to our lair," Fred said with a mysterious smile. If he was honest with himself, Harry had to admit that the chance to see the twins' room was exciting. He could only imagine what horrors were contained within.

The room was definitely not what he'd been expecting. The first thing he noticed was the cauldron on a raised wooden platform against one wall. It fairly gleamed in the candlelit room, as if it had been scrubbed clean recently. The twins slept in bunk beds squashed into the corner, and the rest of the walls were blocked by shelves that reached almost to the ceiling.

Each shelf held a startling assortment of bottles, pouches, and flasks, labeled in the twins' scrawling handwriting. It was almost like walking into the apothecary in Diagon Alley. Harry was amazed.

"It used to be a bit messier," Fred admitted, "but we made some changes after the… _incident_… at the end of last year." He watched Harry knowingly.

"That's why you're here, Harry," George went on. "See, we may not know what happened then, or who you fought, but we know it's not over. Mum and Dad have been staying up late and going out at odd hours-"

"-plus there's the new state of our family clock," Fred finished. "That's a fairly big clue that something big is stirring – if you'll pardon the bad Potions pun."

The twins nodded to each other, and spoke in unison.

"We want in."

Harry sighed. He should have guessed that the twins, who were some of the smartest people he knew – even if they went to great lengths to hide that fact – would not be content to stay on the sidelines.

Seeing his hesitation, George spoke up again. "We know that school isn't important anymore – not that we ever thought it was," he added, grinning. "It's all about being prepared for what's coming. And judging by those shiny awards Dumbledore gave the three of you, you're more prepared than any of the rest of us. Since Professor Sarutobi isn't coming back, and the new Defence teacher doesn't seem likely to be much help, we figured you were the man to see."

"We're not counting Ron or Hermione out," Fred said hastily, "it's just, we didn't want to give Ron the satisfaction of knowing that we want his help. At least, not until we know if you _are_ willing to teach us some of what you know."

"It's not that I don't want to," Harry began, "but it's a bit complicated. You know Professor Umbridge is from the Ministry, right?" They nodded.

"Well, the Ministry also thinks that Dumbledore is in league with Sirius Black. Probably the first thing that Umbridge is going to do is crack down on any students practicing combat magic. Which is terrible, because what with… what happened last year, combat magic is probably the most important thing for us to learn. But whatever practice we do has to be under the radar, and – no offense – you two aren't exactly known for that."

Fred and George winced, acknowledging the truth of that observation.

"We understand your caution, Harry," said Fred seriously.

"But despite our admitted love for the spotlight-"

"-and perhaps a slight fondness for pyrotechnics-"

"-we _can_ keep a secret if the situation demands it."

Fred pointed to a picture on the wall above their cauldron. It showed a younger Mrs. Weasley standing next to two slightly older men. "Do you see those two blokes? They're our uncles, Gideon and Fabian Prewett. They fought You-Know-Who in the war, before they were killed by Death Eaters."

George turned back to Harry. "They were heroes, just like our Mum and Dad – even ickle Ronnikins, I suppose, as of last spring. And if another war is coming, you can be _damn_ sure that we'll be will be with you front and center. Weasleys don't cower-"

"-except when Mum's having a row," Fred broke in. "Then we cower like anything."

"Very true, brother mine. Anyway, we're smart enough to know that there's a lot of room for us to improve, and not enough time for us to get there on our own. So what do you say, Harry? Can you lend a hand?"

"Keep in mind," Fred added, eyes glinting, "that if you help us, we'll help you. We've been fairly busy this summer, and I think we've managed to brew up a few things that might be useful to you."

Harry eyed the twins speculatively, and then shifted his gaze to the treasure trove of unknown substances and potions on the shelves around him. If the twins had really shifted gears from pranking to military research and development, he could only imagine what possibilities for mayhem were contained in this room.

"I can't make any promises until I talk to Ron and Hermione," Harry told them, "but I wouldn't worry. We've already made some plans for training under Professor Umbridge's nose, and I'd guess that we can fit a few more people easily enough. Professor Sarutobi devoted his extra time last year to training us, but I think he'd want us to do our best to make sure our friends and classmates are prepared, too. He talks a lot about the 'next generation,' so I think he'd approve. In the meantime," he broke off, eyeing the twins' lanky bodies critically, "start doing push-ups. Lots and lots of push-ups."

He laughed at their horrified expressions, then headed down the stairs to Ron's room, where a blessedly soft bed awaited him.

oOoOo

_Drip… drip… drip…_

Charlie Weasley had lost all track of time. His cell was in a stone dungeon deep underground, with nothing to mark the passage of time except the maddening sound of water droplets hitting the floor.

_Drip… drip… drip…_

Not for the first time, Charlie wondered if the sound might drive him mad. His thoughts were already scattered, swirling and resolving into ideas only to shatter into fragments as the next droplet of water hit the stone floor.

He tried to remember who he was, why he was here, but it all fled before the pain. His entire body was one mass of agony. He'd lost count of the number of times he'd been tortured – probably almost as many times as he'd eaten meals, since the person who brought him food always applied the Cruciatus Curse for a while before feeding him.

But even worse than the Cruciatus Curse were the times when _he_ visited Charlie in his dungeon cell. Charlie didn't even know the man's name, but he vividly remembered the day the man had shown up at the Romanian Dragon Preserve.

The first sign that anything was wrong was a nearby explosion that had driven the dragons wild. But Charlie had no time to calm them down, because the next thing he knew his boss, an Irish wizard named Murphy who had taught Charlie everything he knew about dragon-wrangling, had burst into flame right before his eyes.

With instincts honed by years of Quidditch and then dodging dragonfire, Charlie was able to draw his wand and Apparate to the other end of the clearing. Escape hadn't even crossed his mind – he would fight to protect his dragons and his coworkers. There were only two enemy wizards, and Charlie thought he could flank both of them by Apparating behind them. But his Stunner went right through the older man, revealing him to be an illusion. A second later Charlie was dangling in the air, helpless, bound by invisible ropes.

He could still remember the voice that spoke to him from behind, chilling the blood in his veins.

"_You were foolhardy not to retreat when you had a chance, yet you fought well for a wizard. I believe you may be of use._"

Then everything went dark, and Charlie had awoken in a dank cell – where, he did not know. The torture began soon after. Sometimes it was a blond boy, surely no more than seventeen years old, who performed the spell, and sometimes it was the man who had captured Charlie and killed many of his coworkers. But no matter who it was, the questions were always the same.

"Are there any unguarded entrances to Hogwarts?"

"What are the school's defences?"

"How many trained wizards live in Hogsmeade?"

Each time Charlie was tempted to break, he thought of his Percy, who had written to him what seemed like a lifetime ago, informing Charlie that he was Head Boy. He thought of the twins, and Ron, and Ginny just beginning her second year. He repeated their names in his head like a spell, clinging to the memory of their faces. Each time, he found the strength to persist.

Then his captor would go away, leaving Charlie alone with his pain and the never-ending _drip_ of water falling from the ceiling.

That day – or night, or whatever it was – the man came again. Charlie tried to force his body to relax, since he knew from experience that tensing up before the Cruciatus often made you bite your tongue by accident.

"Don't fret yourself," said Charlie's captor. "I'm not going to torture you anymore. You've passed my test."

Charlie tried to spit at the man's feet, but his mouth didn't have enough moisture. "Go to Hell," he croaked.

"I most assuredly would," the man laughed, "if I were ever to die. But I have no time for theology. First, let me applaud you. Your strength of will is impressive, especially considering how soft and weak the majority of wizards are. I suppose it might be a product of your chosen profession – or perhaps it is the reason you chose that profession in the first place."

"You're only wasting your time," Charlie rasped. "I'll never betray Hogwarts."

His captor waved a hand dismissively. "Oh, you did that ages ago. You may have a strong mind, but apparently no one ever taught you Occlumency. I've plumbed your mind for every scrap of information regarding Hogwarts' defences, although you didn't know much. The torture was simply my way of measuring your inner strength, and determining if you are worthy to serve me."

Charlie roared with rage, straining against the chains that held him, but of course they didn't budge an inch. "You might as well kill me," he whispered. "I will never serve you."

"It's amazing how few people say that, when they come face to face with their own death. But whenever I encounter those people, I find that there are usually other levers one can pull to bring about a change of perspective. You may be willing to sacrifice yourself, but what about your family?"

"You can't touch my family," Charlie whispered praying that it was true. "They are under Dumbledore's protection. He's the greatest wizard alive, and he will squash you like a bug the moment you step out from under your rock."

"Believe what you like," the man said comfortably. "I can see I won't persuade you with words alone. But be patient – and in the meantime, try to remember as much as you can about raising baby dragons. I've located as many eggs as I could, and they ought to hatch any day now."

He made as if to leave, but turned back at the last moment. "I hope you've been enjoying your cell. It's roomy, isn't it? But it must get lonely… I suppose it would be kind of me to find you a roommate, yes? Someone you know, preferably someone you care about… As a matter of fact, I've been planning a trip to Egypt for a while. Perhaps I can find a suitable prospect while I'm there."

Understanding dawned, and it hurt Charlie worse than any Cruciatus Curse possibly could.

_No… Bill!_

His anguished cries echoed off the rocky walls of his cell, but the man was already gone.

oOoOo

Sarutobi brought Draco to King's Cross Station, watching over him until he had safely passed through Platform Nine and Three-Quarters. Draco didn't look back as the bustling London station disappeared from sight. He and Sarutobi had said everything they needed to say. Draco had his orders, and he knew exactly what to do once he got to Hogwarts. He was looking forward to it, actually. Professor Snape might not be on Sarutobi's level, but Malfoy knew the Potions professor would have a lot to teach him.

First things first, however. Before he could learn from Snape, he had to figure out his new position within Slytherin House. Draco hadn't seen any of his classmates since the spring, and they were doubtless wondering how the summer had changed him. There were many secrets he would have to keep from them, most notably the fact that he had spent every waking hour of the last month practicing magic with blood traitors and Mudbloods. Remembering Hermione's ludicrous skill with complex charms and curses, Malfoy couldn't even think the word 'Mudblood' with the old venom.

Draco went in search of the third-year Slytherin compartment. The usual crew was there: Vincent Crabbe, Gregory Goyle, Pansy Parkinson, and Theodore Nott. Draco watched them all carefully, keeping track of their initial reactions as they noticed him standing in the entrance.

Pansy was overjoyed, yelling "Draco!" at the top of her lungs. Crabbe and Goyle looked slightly guilty, as if he had caught them doing something wrong. And maybe he had, for he could see the way they flanked Theodore Nott, the same way they had once flanked him. It seemed that without Lucius Malfoy's reputation or wealth to keep them in line, the elder Crabbe and Goyle had urged their sons to transfer their loyalty to the Nott family. Now that Lucius was dead, as well as powerful former Death Eaters such as Rookwood and Macnair, Theodore's father was the head of the most influential Pureblood family left with ties to Slytherin House.

Theodore's expression was the most interesting of them all – it was a mixture of fear, confusion, and resentment. Draco wagered that Theodore had hoped he wouldn't be coming back to Hogwarts. Now the pecking order would have to be reestablished, but Draco had no intention of reclaiming his position at the top. Not only were his loyalties different, but the restrictions on his magic were a significant risk. None of his Housemates could learn about the Vow he'd sworn, so discretion would certainly be the better part of valor this year.

Draco gave them his best level-eyed stare, channeling his father at his most disapproving. "I see things have changed since I've been away."

"But now you're back!" Pansy declared, completely missing his point. She had never been the most observant of Slytherins, Draco remembered. In her own way, she was as much a follower as Crabbe or Goyle.

Nott scooted down on the plush seat, somewhat reluctantly making room for Draco. "Where… where were you? My father made inquiries at the Ministry, but Fudge only said you were somewhere safe."

Draco shrugged. "That's true enough. After the attempt on my life, Dumbledore found a safe place for me to spend the rest of the summer. _I_ don't even know where it was – there were a lot of trees, but that's all I can tell you."

Crabbe and Goyle kept shooting him worried glances. Clearly, they expected him to confront them about their split loyalties. Draco thought it best to clear that issue up immediately – the upcoming year would be much easier if he didn't have to worry about Crabbe and Goyle following him around like they used to. He would miss having his own personal henchmen, but it was probably time that Draco got used to taking care of his own problems. After all, Crabbe and Goyle would be worse than useless when he fought Orochimaru.

"How have you two been?" he asked pointedly, making Gregory jump. "Spent some time at Nott's manor this summer, have you?"

"Ah, about that, Draco," Gregory stammered, but Draco cut him off.

"That's good. I have new protections in case the man who killed my parents returns to finish the job, but Theodore is probably in danger too. I hope you watch his back as well as you did mine."

It was true enough, in a way, even if Draco's so-called "protections" were nothing more than the skills he had acquired from Sarutobi. Vincent nodded, relief plain on his features, while Theodore regarded Draco with cautious speculation.

"How are you feeling, Draco?" Pansy asked, either ignoring or oblivious to the shifting loyalties currently realigning in the compartment. "I mean, now that your parents-"

The expression on his face silenced her mid-sentence. "I'd prefer it if we didn't talk about my parents." His voice, perfectly bland and emotionless, nevertheless made Pansy turn white with fear.

"Can we at least ask about who killed them?" Theodore asked, showing a certain amount of daring. Draco raised one eyebrow, wondering what Theodore was playing at. "My father says the Ministry blames Sirius Black. They reckon that after Black escaped from Azkaban, he began hunting down Death Eaters who renounced the Dark Lord after he fell. After all, including your parents, over a dozen former Death Eaters died last year, though none of the others had children at Hogwarts. My father brought a security team in from the Ministry to upgrade the wards on our manor, and he wasn't the only one." Nott shivered. "I hope they capture that lunatic quickly."

Draco quickly stifled his surge of anger at the Ministry, and Cornelius Fudge in particular. Only a few weeks ago when they had met for a brief meeting at the Ministry, the Minister had refused to examine Draco's memories of Orochimaru, saying that they had doubtlessly been tampered with. Draco wondered when the Minister thought that had happened – when his mother was killed, or after Draco had gone to live with Sarutobi. It was maddening, but Fudge still had his uses, since he believed that Draco was willing to spy on Dumbledore for the Ministry.

"He didn't look like Black," Draco said shortly, repressing his memories of Orochimaru. "But the Minister reckons he was disguised, or else I was Confunded during the attack. I don't really know, and that's another topic I'd appreciate if we left alone."

Nott acquiesced instantly, hands spread wide as if to say he'd meant no disrespect. Pansy showed surprising thoughtfulness by setting up a game of Exploding Snap, and the five Slytherins moved away from more dangerous topics for a while. Draco even managed to enjoy himself, and they focused solely on the game as the Hogwarts Express carried them closer and closer to school. When the snack trolley came by, Draco tried to earn some goodwill by purchasing a ton of sweets and giving them to his classmates.

He thought that the grandmotherly witch pushing the trolley gave him a searching glance, and he wondered if she remembered him from last year, when he had ordered Crabbe and Goyle to buy him sweets with their own pocket money.

Several minutes later, the Hogwarts Express started slowing down, far too soon for them to have reached Hogwarts.

"What's going on?" Pansy wondered, peering out the window. "We can't be at school yet."

Draco's instincts told him that something was very wrong. "Wands out," he ordered, gratified when even Theodore obeyed instantly. "Form a circle, but stay away from the window. I'll watch the door."

Inwardly, Draco was cursing himself for a fool. Of _course_ the Hogwarts Express was vulnerable to attack! A train moving through the countryside at a fixed speed, carrying all of Hogwarts' students with no adults to protect them. If Orochimaru was responsible for the train stopping, they would be at his mercy. Draco had no illusions that his scant months of training could help him against the monster who had killed his parents. For a moment, he wished that Ron, Harry, and Hermione were in the compartment with him. At least he trusted the three of them in a fight – Merlin knew they'd proved their worth a hundred times over while dueling in Black's manor.

Draco's breath crystallized in front of him, the air growing inexplicably cold. Pansy moaned with fear as frost spread icy fingers across the window. _We're fish in a barrel here_, Draco realized. _We need to move, maybe join forces with some older Slytherins, even if Potter and his friends are too far away._

"Come on," he said, moving to open the door of the compartment. Waiting just outside, floating a foot off the ground, was a creature that Draco had only ever heard during bedtime stories from his childhood nurse. It was a Dementor, tattered black cloak swaying in a nonexistent breeze, low hood obscuring its face except for a scabbed, horrifying maw.

The chill bit deeper, and Draco fell backwards, unable to raise his wand. His vision went dark, and he could hear voices, which began muffled but grew louder.

"_Avada Kedavra_!"

That was his mother's voice, clear as the day she died, trying to protect him. Draco knew what came next, and sure enough Orochimaru's voice echoed in his head, too distinct to be a mere memory. Draco tried to fight, to stand up, to do _anything_, but the cold leeched him of his strength and he was fading, falling…

"Wake up, lad!" A woman's voice woke him, one he didn't recognize. It was too low to be his mother's, and it held a level of exasperation that Narcissa would never have expressed openly.

"Come on, blast you, open your eyes!" Draco felt a spark zap his hand, and he jolted upright. To his great astonishment, the witch who pushed the trolley was standing over him, her grandmotherly face showing both concern and annoyance.

"Did I… did I faint?" Draco asked, furious with himself.

"Yes, but there's no shame in that," the witch assured him. She handed him a bar of Honeydukes' best chocolate, tearing the wrapper efficiently. "Eat up. It helps with Dementor attacks."

Draco stared at the chocolate, uncomprehending. "Eat it," the witch snapped. "There's no _time_, Merlin take you!"

Draco obediently took a bite, and gasped as warmth spread down to his toes. His protector nodded with satisfaction. "That's more like it. Now come with me – I may need your help."

Draco was not stupid, and he was quickly realizing that there was more to this witch than met the eye. Sarutobi had taught him to react quickly in combat situations, so he got to his feet immediately, picking his wand up from where it had dropped to the floor.

The trolley witch pointed a threatening finger at the other Slytherings, who were cowering against the far wall. "You lot stay there, and don't move a muscle!" she warned, sounding uncommonly fierce for such a placid-looking lady. "Honestly," she muttered, "there's not a single one of you with a spine… follow me, Mr. Malfoy."

Draco hurried out into the corridor after her, rapidly running through his repertoire of spells. Was there anything he knew that could hurt a Dementor? He wasn't sure, but he promised himself he wouldn't faint again.

"Don't be ashamed about before," the witch called over her shoulder. "You're not weak. Dementors bring out your worst memories and make you relive them over and over. They affected you like that because you've suffered more than most. They're some of the most dangerous Dark creatures alive, but you can fight them if you know how. Just pay attention, and stay behind me."

The frumpy witch showed surprising strength as she barreled down the length of the train, effortlessly carving a path through confused students from all four Houses. Draco ran behind, determined to learn all he could by watching her.

Near the opposite end of the train, there were no students at all in the corridor. Instead, four hooded Dementors floated in front of an open door, pacing back and forth with a frustrated air, like a pack of wolves cheated of their prey. Draco could see a bright light blocking the doorway, which he recognized a moment later as the Shield Charm, Protego. It flickered in places, showing that whoever held it in place must be getting tired, but for the moment the Dementors couldn't pass.

"That's Potter's compartment," the trolley witch said with grim satisfaction. "I figured they'd gravitate there. If only your little Pureblood friends had _half_ their guts!"

Draco could only agree. The witch rolled up the sleeves of her robe with a business-like air.

"Watch closely, Mr. Malfoy. This is how you deal with Dementors. _Expecto Patronum!_"

There was a blinding flash, and then a giant grizzly bear made of silver light erupted from her wand. The grizzly thundered down the narrow confines of the corridor, bearing down on the Dark creatures like a silver-furred avalanche.

They let out unearthly shrieks and fled before it, flying out of the nearest exit and disappearing into the gloom. The witch led Draco to the door, gesturing to the students inside the compartment. The Shield Charm winked out of existence, revealing a _second_ Shield Charm that held a moment longer before disappearing.

Ron and Hermione stood side by side, faces pale but determined, while in the back of the compartment Neville Longbottom crouched protectively in front of Harry Potter's motionless body.

_Oh thank Merlin_, Draco thought, relieved. _Potter fainted too_. Then he flushed, embarrassed to be happy about something so petty.

"Everyone inside," the witch urged, herding them like sheep and sliding the door closed behind them. "Shake him awake," she told Neville, pointing to Harry, "and make him eat this." She tossed him another chocolate bar, which Neville fumbled a bit before catching.

"First of all," the witch began, eyeing Ron and Hermione with respect, "excellent work. It takes a powerful Shield Charm to hold four Dementors at bay, and a quick mind to think to try it."

"All Hermione," Ron admitted, looking sheepish. "I would still be wasting time with Diffindo if she hadn't suggested Protego."

"Praise each other on your own time," the witch snapped, looking for all the world as if she hadn't been praising them herself. "For now, shut up and listen. Those were Dementors, guardians of Azkaban, the wizard prison. As you know, they'll be at Hogwarts this year. Make sure you have some chocolate on you at all times – it counteracts the draining effect to some extent. Next thing to know is the Patronus Charm. It's the only spell we know of that drives Dementors away. Look it up the moment you get to Hogwarts, and practice it in secret until you have it down."

Hermione's eyes flashed. "Why did they board the train?" she demanded. "Doesn't that constitute an attack on minors?"

"The Ministry will no doubt claim that they were only doing a routine security check," the trolley witch responded, spitting derisively. "And since no one was harmed, they'll get away with it. Dumbledore will lodge an official complaint with the Minister, but I doubt it will have much effect. That's why you need to be prepared for the next time – I won't always be here to pull your bacon out of the fire."

"We're right grateful to you, ma'am," Ron said. "But… who _are_ you?"

To everyone's considerable shock, their savior's right eye rotated completely in its socket, revealing a completely different eye on the other side. The pupil was a brilliant blue, and larger than any normal eye. It even looked like it was made of... glass. She winked slyly, and the eye whizzed around like a dervish, looking in every direction at once.

"Greetings from the Order of the Phoenix," said Mad-Eye Moody, his face and voice still those of the witch who had pushed the trolley on the Hogwarts Express for time out of mind. "And don't call me 'ma'am.' Dumbledore thought it best to have someone guarding the train, and I guess he was right. I'm just glad I didn't have to drink this bloody Polyjuice Potion for nothing."

He fished a flask out of his robes and took a deep swig, scrunching up his face in disgust. "Phaugh, that stuff is awful. Anyway, I have to keep making my rounds, in case any more of the slimy creatures try to board before the train starts up again. Stay sharp, you hear? Constant Vigilance!"

The fake witch stalked out of the apartment, and this time Draco thought he detected a faint limp. The third-year students looked at each other, stunned.

"Merlin's Beard," Draco said, raw envy in his voice. "Did you see that _bear_?! We need to learn this Patronus Charm first thing."

"Malfoy?" Neville said hesitantly, as if he couldn't believe his eyes. "Why, um… are you here?"

Harry Potter coughed weakly, saving Malfoy the trouble of answering. "Probably came to gloat," Harry wheezed, shivering uncontrollably. "Seeing as how I fainted like a little girl."

"Eat that chocolate," Draco advised. "It helps. I was feeling pretty terrible after I fainted, but the chocolate fixed me right up."

Harry stared at him, surprised, then nodded hesitantly. "Here goes, then." He took one bite, then another, amazed at how effective it was. The Gryffindors shared the rest of the chocolate amongst themselves, senses still alert in case any more Dementors showed up.

"I guess we're friends with Malfoy, then," Neville said to no one in particular.

"Not _friends_, Longbottom," Draco drawled. "More like reluctant allies. Try to keep up, will you? Oh, and sorry for cursing you so many times last year… and the year before… won't happen again."

Neville was too shocked by his apology to respond. Soon a low rumbling signaled that the train was on its way again.

"If that fight was an indication of how the school year is going to go," said Hermione, shaking her head, "then I'm beginning to think things will be even worse than we thought."

No one disagreed.

Thankfully, the train made it the rest of the way to Hogwarts without any further disruptions. As they were preparing to embark, Harry turned to Draco.

"Do you want to take one of the carriages up to the castle with us? There's strength in numbers, after all."

"I appreciate the offer," said Draco, realizing to his astonishment that he actually _did_. "But I'm not supposed to let people see me with you guys. The Slytherins would think I've changed sides, and it might get back to Cornelius Fudge. As it is, I've got a good chance to get on Dolores Umbridge's good side, which could be a significant advantage for all of us."

_And when did it become _us? Draco wondered. But looking around the compartment at the earnest Gryffindors, he realized that somehow it had.

All of the Gryffindors, even Neville, regarded him with a respect that was weirdly gratifying. "So you're the inside man, eh?" said Ron, nodding. "It makes sense. Just be careful, you know? We can't watch your back very well without blowing your cover."

"I'll watch my own back," Draco said gruffly – but truthfully, knowing they were worried about him was actually… pleasant. "I won't be as alone as all that," Draco assured them. "I have orders to report to Professor Snape, and I have another ally that no one will suspect." He grinned conspiratorially at them, and Harry in particular. "Remember a cute House Elf named Dobby? Turns out his family freed him, so he took a job in the Hogwarts kitchens."

"That's great," said Harry sarcastically. "He can steal your mail, keep you from taking the Hogwarts Express, and break your bones while trying to keep you safe!"

"He did all that to you?" Draco demanded, startled into laughing. "I _knew_ there was a reason I liked him!"

"We should go," Hermione said worriedly, watching the stream of students through the window. "We'll miss the carriages."

"Go on ahead," Draco told them. "I'll wait a bit, then come out after so nobody sees me with you." Remembering what their disguised protector had told them, he grinned. "Constant Vigilance, right?"

The Gryffindors laughed again, then departed with their trunks, schoolbooks, and various magical pets. Draco was left on his own in the compartment, reflecting that he felt far more at home with the Gryffindors than he had with the Slytherins. That was… troubling, to say the least.

Draco waited long enough that when he finally exited the train, there was only one carriage left. He walked over to it, noting with shock that it was attached to a pair of skeletal creatures that he _definitely_ didn't remember from last year.

"They're thestrals," came a feminine voice from the carriage. "Beautiful, aren't they?"

Draco looked up in surprise. The girl who had spoken was a second-year Ravenclaw that he vaguely remembered from the Sorting last year. Her pale skin and white-blond hair, eerily similar to his own, made her stand out in his memory. What was her name again? …Luna, that was it. Luna Lovegood.

"Luna, right?" he said, looking away from her to the skeletal winged horses in front of the carriage. "Those things are called thestrals? Why couldn't I see them last year?"

"Thestrals are only visible to those who have seen death," Luna replied matter-of-factly. Draco froze, his throat tightening painfully. "I am sorry for your loss," she continued. "It has been many years since I lost my mother, and I still miss her very much. It must be very painful for you."

Luna's sincere sympathy, free from any hint of pity or condescension, threatened to erode Draco's self-control, so he distracted himself by loading his trunks on the back of the carriage. When he was confident that his expression was under control, he climbed up to sit beside Luna.

"It's nice to meet you, Luna," he said, holding out his hand. "I'm Draco Malfoy."

"Draco," she replied, stretching out his name as if savoring each syllable. "It's nice to meet you, too."


	24. Back to School

**A/N: **I'm sorry for the long wait between updates! I've been working full time this summer, preparing to move to Singapore, and trying to write some original fiction into the bargain. But I haven't forgotten about this story, and I've got a decent-sized chapter for you here.

A little bit more of the plot emerges, with Umbridge making her appearance and Orochimaru's plans beginning to take shape. It's looking grim for our boys and girls, with enemies closing in on all sides, but at least they're back at Hogwarts and ready to fight the good fight. Please read and review!

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Naruto or Harry Potter

**Chapter 23: Back to School**

No matter what dangers might be stirring in the outside world, nothing was enough to dampen Harry's joy at being back at Hogwarts. The Great Hall was packed with students ready to begin another year, and once the Sorting was over they could get down to the serious business of eating their way through the start-of-term feast. Hogwarts was just as Harry remembered it, right down to the ceiling enchanted to look like a starry night sky.

But somehow, it felt different from the last two years. That might have been a result of the looks Harry and his friends were getting from the other students, and the whispers that cut off whenever the third-year Gryffindors came too close. It was a reminder that no one besides Harry, Ron, Hermione – and now Draco, Harry reminded himself – knew what had actually occurred at the end of last year. Lucius' attack was still very much a mystery, and Hogwarts students loved a good mystery.

Hermione was the first to look up at the staff table, after which she elbowed Ron and Harry insistently. "There she is," she said, pointing discreetly at an unfamiliar witch wearing a truly horrible pink cardigan over her robes. "That must be Professor Umbridge."

"Are you sure?" Harry asked, puzzled. With her mousy brown curls and cardigan, Umbridge hardly looked like what Harry had expected from the Ministry's enforcer at Hogwarts. "She looks more like somebody's aunt than Fudge's attack dog."

"Wait and see, mate," Ron advised. "Appearances can be deceiving."

Hermione grinned at him mischievously. "When did you grow so wise, Ronald?"

He scowled back, red tinting his cheeks. "Oh, stow it, will you?"

The crowd of first year students milled around in front of the staff table in a loose line. Professor McGonagall stood in front of them like a particularly stern sheepdog, clipboard in hand. The Sorting Hat sat on its stool in plain view of all four House tables, ready to fulfill its purpose for another year. Slowly the chatter in the Hall quieted, as McGonagall's insistent glare made it clear that they were about to proceed. The Sorting Hat quivered, and then the tear near its brim widened into a mouth.

"_Well, well, well,_" the Hat began, sounding inordinately pleased about something. "_Another year begins. As it happens, I've been getting a bit bored with the usual pattern for the Sorting Song. You all know the traditional organization of the Houses, after all. This year, I've prepared something special. It's a Hogwarts legend, as old as the castle itself. Listen carefully, for no story is so lost to the past that we can't apply it to the present._"

The hat shook itself, like a dog coming in from the rain, then burst into song:

_In times long past there was a man_

_Whose name was Corny Mudge_

_He lusted after wealth and power_

_And held a vicious grudge._

_The Headmaster of Hogwarts School_

_Refused to bow his head_

_But Corny Mudge said, "You must bow,_

_Or else you'll end up dead!"_

_He hatched a plan, a cunning plot_

_To bring dear Hogwarts down_

_So in the end, he'd win it all_

_He'd wear the jeweled crown._

_And so he sent his minion_

_A cunning, warty Toad_

_With an army of dark creatures_

_To pave his treacherous road._

_The Toad pretended friendship_

_And offered sweet reward;_

_But for those who stood against her_

_There was only fire and sword._

_In the end, a school divided was_

_The goal of Mudge and Toad;_

_A place where brother turned on brother_

_And betrayal was the code._

_But Hogwarts wasn't broken_

_Her students stood up tall_

_They refused to be defeated_

_They would rather die than fall._

_So each House did its damnedest_

_To do what they did best;_

_All had different skills to offer,_

_Yet stood proudly with the rest._

_Wise Ravenclaw, with minds so bright_

_Saw through Toad's silken lies_

_Brave Gryffindor took up the fight_

_With mighty battle cries!_

_Hufflepuff worked night and day_

_Protecting all their friends_

_And Slytherin made sure that Toad_

_Would never rise again._

_Mudge and Toad were forced to flee_

_At last the day was won_

_But the tragic fact is they'll be back_

_The battle's just begun._

_So if you go to Hogwarts in_

_The year when Toad returns_

_Remember well what I have sung,_

_The lessons you must learn._

_The strength to battle evil comes_

_When each fulfills his role._

_Hogwarts stands triumphant when_

_Four Houses form a whole._"

The hat came to an abrupt stop, and there was a moment of confused silence before applause rang through the Great Hall. Hermione slapped Harry on the shoulder, laughing so hard her curly hair was bouncing uncontrollably. "Brilliant! Absolutely brilliant!"

Ron scratched his head, bemused. "I don't get it. Don't you reckon we would have heard if a giant toad had attacked Hogwarts? I mean, if nothing else, Fred and George would have tried to scare me with the story when I was younger."

"Oh Ron, don't you ever pay attention?" she said, though she smiled to take the sting out of her rebuke. "_Corny Mudge? _The Hat is talking about _Cornelius Fudge_, of course! And the Toad and the army of Dark creatures? Who else could that be but Umbridge and the Dementors? The Hat isn't singing about something that happened at Hogwarts years ago – it's singing about what's going to happen _this year!_ It wants us to band together, so that the Ministry doesn't weaken us when it tries to discredit Dumbledore."

"Well, why didn't it bloody well say so?" Ron asked, exasperated. Hermione huffed.

"It's an _allegory_, Ronald. Honestly, it's like Wizarding children don't even _read_!"

"You know," Harry broke in, anxious to head off what looked like the start of a proper row, "I reckon the Hat's got a point. Umbridge does look a bit like a toad, yeah?"

He nodded at Umbridge as the applause died down, and Ron and Hermione had to agree. With her pouchy eyes and pale, fleshy face, Umbridge _did_ resemble a toad. But what was really interesting was the expression on her face as the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor stared at the Sorting Hat. There was an avid light in those amphibious eyes, a hunger for retribution that sent a chill down Harry's spine.

"Merlin's beard," Ron whispered under his breath. "Still think she looks like a nice old auntie, Harry?"

Harry shook his head. "My aunt Marge, maybe. Only she's looking at the Sorting Hat more like my aunt's bulldog Ripper."

Dumbledore stood up and instantly gained the school's attention. The Headmaster regarded the hat with a vaguely puzzled air. "That is certainly something I have never heard before," he announced, drawing a round of chuckles from those students who hadn't seen Umbridge's expression. "Now that we have heard the musical version of that most excellent Hogwarts legend, let us begin the Sorting. Minerva, if you would?"

Thankfully, the Sorting proceeded quickly and without further disturbance, and in short order the four House Tables had absorbed the stream of first years. Harry cheered and clapped politely for the Gryffindor students, but to be honest he'd already forgotten their names by the time they all sat down. McGonagall took away the hat and the stool, while Dumbledore stood up to officially welcome everyone to the start-of-term feast.

"There are speeches to be made," Dumbledore announced, eyes twinkling brightly, "but not, I think, just yet. Welcome first years, and to the rest of you, welcome back! Eat, drink, and be merry!"

The food appeared all at once, so much of it that the tables groaned in protest. Harry, Ron, and Hermione began heaping their plates high, content to forget about Umbridge for at least a little while. Harry would accord her the respect due a powerful opponent, but he'd be _damned_ before he let her ruin the start-of-term feast.

Harry and Ron put away enough food for three adults, and Hermione was no slouch, either. Fending off the Dementors on the train had been a draining experience – Hermione and Ron had protected Harry by maintaining the Shield charms for over three minutes. All the while the robed fiends had prowled, looking for a weakness and feeding on their emotions. Roast beef slathered in mustard might not erase the memory of that desperate struggle, but it sure made Ron feel better. All three of them drew disgusted looks from Lavender, who didn't think much of their gluttony.

It felt good to see Neville, Dean, and Seamus again after the long summer. Dean and Seamus kept shooting Harry odd looks, but he tried not to get too irritated. Harry had a feeling that with Dementors running around, the events of last year would quickly be replaced by new events. He just hoped they didn't involve any Dark wizards, mayhem, or painful and violent death. But then, why should he expect things to be any different?

"It's going to be strange without Professor Sarutobi," Neville said sadly. "I've never had a teacher like him before. He even helped me get over my fear of Snape!"

"Don't let Snape hear you say that, mate," Ron grinned, nudging him with one elbow. "He'll make it his personal mission to get you properly terrified again."

Neville nodded agreement, but the confidence in his eyes remained undimmed. Harry remembered how far Neville had come last year, and found himself looking forward to this year's study sessions. If Umbridge acted as Sarutobi had predicted, Harry had a feeling that the study sessions would take on a slightly more… _active_ role.

"I saw one of those Dementor things on the train," said Seamus, looking a little white. "Never felt anything like that before… I don't fancy having them around this year."

"Dumbledore will keep them off the ground, right?" Parvati asked, her food momentarily forgotten as she remembered the Dementors.

"He'll do his best," said Harry. "But they only answer to the Ministry, and it doesn't pay to be careless. As long as Dementors are at Hogwarts, we should know how to protect ourselves from them, yeah?"

His fellow Gryffindors nodded as one. If there was one thing Sarutobi had drilled into them during Defense classes last year, it was the necessity of being prepared. Hermione took up the thread that Harry had started.

"I've been reading about Dementors," she said carefully, not looking at anyone in particular. "They feed on emotion. Our worst memories are like this banquet to them. If the Ministry didn't keep them under control, they would probably be responsible for dozens of deaths every year. That's even without their special power, called the Dementor's Kiss… it sucks your soul out of your body."

Lavender squealed in fright, as if Hermione were telling a ghost story.

"It would only take one Dementor going rogue," Hermione went on, "and the whole school would be chaos! I don't know about you, but I'm not going to end up a soulless husk."

She patted her wand with a grim expression. Seamus, Dean, Lavender and Parvati were watching Hermione with something close to awe, something that would never have happened before the battle with Lucius in the entrance hall. Hermione noticed their stares, and ruined the effect by blushing bright red.

"Thanks for the warning," Dean said, his face scrunched up in thought. "If you know any anti-Dementor spells, would you teach them to us? Maybe during our weekly study session?"

Ron exchanged a broad wink with Harry. This was a good start, if their friends brought up the idea of training during study sessions themselves. It would make preparing them a lot easier if they thought it was their own idea. This was all part of what Sarutobi had advised them to do – he said that their apprenticeship with him was over, and that they needed to begin taking on leadership roles in Hogwarts. Harry was a little worried about that; with everyone looking at them like nutters, he wondered exactly how he was supposed to lead anyone. But Sarutobi had asked them to do it, and they wouldn't let him down.

Soon enough the students were stuffed, and the remainder of the delicious feast disappeared from the tables. Dumbledore stood up once again and walked to the lectern, looking out at them over the head of the carved wooden owl.

"There are a few things I must address before I send you off to bed," he began. "First, in light of the escape from Azkaban of the notorious Sirius Black, Hogwarts will be playing host to the Dementors, guards of the wizard prison. They are here to protect us, but I must warn you not to trifle with them. Dementors have no patience for tricks or pranks of any kind, and they are extremely dangerous creatures. Leave them to their jobs, and they will leave you to your studies. Next, it is my pleasure to introduce to you Dolores Umbridge, our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher."

He gestured to Umbridge and gave a little bow. She simpered horribly, and Harry wondered how she managed to make such an action seem so menacing. Dumbledore turned back to the students and opened his mouth, then shut it again. The reason became clear a second later, when Umbridge coughed a second time, loud enough to reach the House tables. It seemed the new Defense teacher wanted to make a speech.

Dumbledore was taken aback for a second, but he recovered quickly. He sat back down and watched Umbridge attentively, looking as if nothing would please him more than to listen to her speak.

"Ahem," the plump witch began, beaming around at all of them. "I am honored to serve as your new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, and I'm sure that we'll all soon be very good friends."

"Fat chance," Ron murmured to Harry. He grinned tightly but kept his eyes on Umbridge, watching her like a mouse watched a snake.

"The Ministry takes education very seriously," said Umbridge, "and nothing is more important to the Minister than the safety of the next generation. The Dementors will keep us safe from the rapacious murderer Sirius Black-" Harry mouthed a bad word – "while I will make sure that your education meets Ministry standards…"

She went on like this for quite some time, and in spite of his resolve to know his enemy, Harry found it impossible to pay attention. The good food currently digesting in his stomach combined with Umbridge's flowery-sounding official words to make his eyelids droop of their own accord. He fought to stay awake, but he didn't worry that he would miss anything. Hermione sat straight as a tent pole, listening attentively with a grimace stretched across her face. She wasn't missing a word, and Harry trusted that she would see through Umbridge's catch everything important in this long-winded welcome speech.

"Damn, that woman can talk," Ron whispered to Harry, shaking his head in amazement. "If she's going to teach like this, Defense class will be as boring as History of Magic!"

"Maybe," said Harry, "but I don't think you want to fall asleep in her class. You might not wake up."

Apparently Umbridge had reached the end of her speech, because she looked around expectantly. Dumbledore started clapping appreciatively, and a smattering of students followed his example. He stood one last time, and bowed his head to Umbridge.

"I'm sure we will all take your kind words to heart," he said. "Now, from those yawns I see some of you trying valiantly to hide, I believe it's time to send you to your dormitories. Prefects, if you would lead the first years out? Welcome back, everyone, and let us hope for a safe, productive year full of friendship and learning. Be off with you!"

As the third-year Gryffindors made their way lazily out of the Great Hall, Harry caught a glimpse of Draco heading purposefully toward the dungeons, in front of a group of Slytherins. Harry hoped that Draco had paid attention during Umbridge's speech, because he wouldn't be able to talk to Hermione and get the condensed version.

But Harry had trained with Draco all summer, and he knew that when it came to poisoned words, cloaked intentions, and secrecy, Draco was every bit as smart as Hermione. He would be fine, even if his role required that he avoid Harry and the other Gryffindors like the plague. Harry just hoped that the Minister would come to his senses soon, so they could all start spending time with Draco openly. Harry had a feeling that the new Draco was someone he could stand to be friends with – and if first year Harry could have heard that, he would have punched his current self in the nose.

There was no telling, Harry reflected sadly, how tragedy could change a person. But if he, Ron, and Hermione had anything to say about it, Draco's life would not be a tragedy any more.

oOoOo

Draco took a detour on the way to the Slytherin dungeons. When Pansy asked where he was going, he saw no reason to lie.

"Professor Snape asked to see me."

"He probably wants to talk to you about… your parents," said Pansy, faltering a little as if unsure whether she should mention the Malfoys.

Draco didn't say anything. Let her believe what she wanted. If her misapprehension provided cover for his mission, why correct her?

Once inside Snape's office, he took a seat in a green upholstered armchair and waited for the Potions teacher to arrive.

Snape stormed into the office, looking like he wanted to commit murder. "I've just had the singular privilege," he said through gritted teeth, "of listening to that Umbridge woman explain all of the reasons why we should be allies. Apparently, as one of your father's former _subordinates_, my loyalty should transfer immediately to the Minister and his aides."

Draco blinked twice, processing. "She doesn't waste any time. What did you say?"

"What I was told," Snape spat, moving to sit down at his desk. "I said that my loyalties have always been with the Malfoy family, and that while I have worked for Dumbledore, it was not always of my own accord. If all went well, Umbridge will believe that she can count on me as a source of information in the event of a Ministry takeover."

"It wouldn't come to that, would it?" Draco asked, shocked. Snape shook his head slowly, but it wasn't a denial.

"I don't know. But I know of Dolores Umbridge by reputation, and she could not be more opposed to Dumbledore's philosophy if she tried. She stands for wizarding purity, and Dumbledore's protection of merpeople, centaurs, and other part-humans goes against her beliefs. Umbridge has an axe to grind – she won't back down simply because Dumbledore is the greatest wizard of our age. Better if we're prepared for any and all eventualities."

Draco was silent for a moment, contemplating the terrible image of a Hogwarts at war. It seemed ludicrous that with not one, but two Dark Lords at large, the greatest threat to the school was coming from the government that was supposed to protect it.

"But enough of that," Snape said, closing the subject with asperity. "Do you know why you're here?"

"Professor Sarutobi told me to report to you," Draco replied instantly. "I'm to maintain my status in Slytherin house and act friendly with Umbridge if she approaches me. I assume that any information I gather will reach Dumbledore through you."

Though no expression crossed Snape's face, Draco thought he looked pleased. "That's correct. I am also responsible for overseeing the next phase of your training. Young _Potter-_" Snape sneered while saying the name, but Draco thought the sneer was a little less venomous than in previous years – "and his friends have made other arrangements to continue learning, but you have another path ahead of you. Living a double life requires a set of skills that may elude mere Gryffindors, shackled as they are to notions of straightforward courage and honor."

The Head of Slytherin shared a smirk with his student. They were in perfect agreement about the merits of Gryffindor values.

"Did your father ever tell you anything about me?" Snape asked, suddenly grave.

"He told me you once worked together," Draco mused, "but nothing else. I assume that means you were …" he hesitated, not sure it was safe to continue.

Snape quirked one eyebrow. "A Death Eater? Yes, that is correct. Your father and I served Lord Voldemort. But what he does not know is that I left Voldemort's service. I… suppose you might say I had a change of heart." Here Snape surprised Draco by laughing bitterly. "I suppose most of my students would be shocked to hear me claim that I have a heart. Nevertheless, I was deeply ashamed of my choices, and I threw myself on Dumbledore's mercy. He showed me forgiveness that I had no right to expect, and from then on I became a double agent working for the Headmaster. He holds my loyalty and my honor, such as it is."

It was strange and somewhat surreal to see his teacher like this. Snape, the scourge of Potions class, was baring his soul, and it made Draco extremely uncomfortable. "Sir, why are you telling me this?"

"Because I want you to understand who I am. I teach Potions at Hogwarts, of course, and that is perhaps the only part of me you are familiar with. But I am also a spy, an expert in the Dark Arts… and a murderer. I have lied to the Dark Lord's face, and survived. So while I may not be able to defeat the likes of Sarutobi or Orochimaru in open combat, make no mistake… I have much to teach you. Are you prepared?"

"Yes, Professor."

Snape stood up abruptly, his robes swishing against his chair. "Know that this is not a road for the faint of heart. Men like us are not permitted the luxury of free will. In the course of your duty you may be called upon to alienate your friends, go against your morals, even turn your back on the ones you love. You will sacrifice everything for a desperate cause, and loneliness will be your only reward. Are you still determined?"

Draco stood up as well, eyes fixed on his Head of House, a man he had never really known. Slowly, deliberately, he nodded. "I am already alone. Everyone who ever loved me is dead. This is the only path open to me now."

A lifetime of pain flashed in Snape's eyes, then disappeared. "It is the same for me. That is our curse, but I will teach you to make it your strength, as well. You are dismissed for now, Mr. Malfoy. We don't want your classmates wondering what we have been talking about for so long."

Draco turned to leave, but Snape called him back. "One last thing. This is for you."

Snape pulled a small vial from within his robes and tossed it to Draco. He caught it instinctively, then looked at it in confusion. Inside the crystal container was a liquid that shone molten gold.

"That is your first assignment," Snape said. "By this Friday, I expect you to tell me what is in that vial. You may use any means at your disposal except administering the potion to yourself or others. If you succeed, that potion is yours. Dismissed."

Draco left the office promptly, already wondering how to begin his research. This assignment might not seem as exciting as his summer combat lessons with Sarutobi and Sirius Black, but Draco trusted Snape. There were more ways to fight than with a wand.

He placed the vial in the inner breast pocket of his robes, and continued through the dungeons to the Slytherin Common Room. He had a lot of work to do.

oOoOo

Viktor Krum was not a happy wizard. Not only was he magically bound to serve an immortal body-snatcher, but he had to put up with his master's sick sense of humor, too. Sending Viktor and Borislav to the Vampire Council by themselves was probably Orochimaru's idea of a joke, but Viktor didn't see anything funny about it. While wizards and vampires officially upheld the peace treaty signed generations ago, there were still incidents every year with rogue vampires or black market suppliers looking to make a fortune by selling vampire blood and powdered vampire fangs.

Moreover, what with the recent spate of violently anti-subhuman legislation coming out of the British Ministry of Magic, tensions were high all over Europe between wizards and part-humans. Showing up unannounced to the Council was just asking to be drained dry and buried deep under Ukrainian soil. But Viktor didn't have any choice – "obey Orochimaru's orders quickly and without fail" was written into the oaths that bound him tighter than any chains, so when his master sent him to parley with vampires, he went.

Viktor was only glad that Poliakoff was with him. The bullheaded Bulgarian wasn't about to show fear in front of anyone, especially not creatures that were afraid of garlic. Boris loved garlic, and held vampires in contempt on general principle.

Up ahead, Viktor saw his best friend emerge from the back door of a seedy inn known as The Crossroads. It was tucked away in a quiet corner of the Ukrainian Wizarding village of Slatu Arad, and it had a reputation as the place to go for information, introductions, and items of a dubious nature.

Boris had gone ahead to inquire about the Vampire Council, while Viktor went shopping in Slatu Arad's open-air market for various substances that might come in handy in vampire territory.

"Did you get the location of the Council?" Viktor asked. Boris lowered the cowl of his cloak and grinned.

"Better. For a little of Orochimaru's gold, I got us a free ride to the bloodsuckers' doorstep." Boris fished an embroidered handkerchief from within his robes and unwrapped it carefully, being careful never to touch the object covered by the cloth. It was a small garnet ring, which glittered balefully in the light.

"Is that a Portkey?"

"Got it in one. Apparently a vampire hunter came through here a while back in need of some cash, so he sold some of his equipment."

Viktor nodded slowly. Bounty hunters sometimes worked for the Vampire Council, catching rogue vampires and bringing them back to face justice – or rather, to face a slow and lingering death, because that was the only end that a vampire could expect if he broke the Treaty and fed on wizard blood. It was technically illegal, but the Vampire Council paid good money for the right to dispose of rebels in their own way.

"How do you know this guy was telling the truth?" Viktor asked. Slatu Arad was a hotbed of criminal activity, and a Portkey guaranteed to bring them to the Vampire Council was just as likely to send them into magically reinforced cages run by black-market slavers. Krum had heard that such crimes were almost nonexistent in Western European countries like Britain or France, but here, the Ministry didn't have the influence or the manpower to stamp out illegal practices like that.

"Do you take me for a fool?" Boris snapped. "I had him perform a truth-speaking spell before I would even look at his merchandise. Honestly, Viktor, if I bought so much as a dozen eggs without making sure the merchant was honest, my grandmother would roll over in her grave."

"No offense meant," Viktor said hastily. "I have nothing but faith in your bargaining skills. I bet you even got a discount on the Portkey."

Boris grinned, appeased. "Damn right I did. Did you get the garlic?"

For answer, Viktor handed Boris a necklace made of garlic bulbs connected with fishing twine. He had another for himself, and a jar filled with garlic powder that they poured over their robes.

"Anything else?" Viktor asked, but he already knew the answer.

"Time to go," Boris said, with the peculiar, almost drunken tone that he adopted when there was a fight brewing. It meant he was focused, ready to unleash deadly force. Good.

The two Durmstrang students held their wands steady, and with their off hands reached out and touched the garnet ring. Viktor grunted as the spell took effect, an invisible hook jerking out his insides and carrying the rest of him after.

His eyes opened – he didn't remember closing them – and he found himself in a small clearing in a forest. Moonlight streamed through gaps in the foliage, providing just enough light to show that Viktor and Boris were not alone. A mass of hooded figures stood before them in a loose circle, and at the sound of the wizards' sudden arrival, they turned as one.

In the near-darkness, the vampires' glowing red eyes were quite striking. Surprised muttering arose, growing louder and more hostile, while Viktor looked around. He thought he saw flashes of movement in the trees, which he guessed were sentries.

"I think we've stumbled on a full meeting of the Council," Viktor whispered. "I don't know if that's good or bad for us."

A sibilant voice answered him. "Most assuredly bad, young wizard. We don't like to be interrupted, especially by wizards cloaked in garlic and wielding wands."

A chorus of snarls rose from the circle, and Viktor shifted his grip on his wand. One of the hooded figures came forward, and at his approach the other vampires fell silent.

"Why do you come here?" the vampire asked, a quiet threat lying dormant underneath his words. "I see you are no more than cubs. Do you seek to test yourselves by hunting my kind, as others have done before you? If so, you must be foolish indeed. You cannot hope to take on all of us and live."

"We are envoys," Viktor announced firmly, lowering his wand to his side. He tried to project confidence – vampires, like most predators, respected strength and pounced on apparent weakness. "We bring a message to the Council of Vampires."

"A message, is it?" mused the vampire spokesman. "You seem young for government employees. Where do you hail from? The Ministry of Magic in Britain? Perhaps you are creatures of the woman Umbridge, with new Guidelines for the Treatment of Non-Wizard Part-Humans… what is it this time? Are we to be tagged and monitored, as the Muggles do with endangered species?"

"No government owns our allegiance," Krum said, speaking not just to the leader, but to all the assembled vampires. "We come as messengers from Lord Orochimaru. He wishes to form an alliance with the Vampire Council."

Krum's eyes had adjusted to the darkness well enough to see the vampire leader raise one eyebrow. "I make it a point to be familiar with all influential wizards in Europe - it pays to know your enemy, even if my kind and yours are not officially enemies any longer. Yet I have never heard this name. Why, then, should I care about his offer of alliance?"

Boris caught Viktor's eye and winced. He knew what was coming. "You should care," said Victor, "because if you refuse to meet with Lord Orochimaru and discuss his terms, he will exterminate every single one of you."

The clearing exploded with the cries of dozens of enraged vampires. The chorus of screeches, hisses, and guttural growling triggered a visceral fear in Viktor, who fought to control his instinctive reaction, which was to run like a rabbit in the opposite direction. _Steady, there,_ he told himself. _Show them no weakness._

The leader raised one hand, and as silence was reestablished, it was clear that it was his will and his will alone that kept the other vampires from attacking right then and there.

"That's quite a stick," he observed coldly, in a voice sharp enough to cut steel. "Is there a carrot to entice us, or do you come here with nothing but threats?"

"Lord Orochimaru has much to offer his friends," Viktor responded, cursing the necessity of these negotiations. Orochimaru had briefed him before he left on what to say to the vampires, so Viktor couldn't deviate from the script without breaking his oath. If he refused to parley with the vampires and died for it, then Orochimaru would torture and kill the young ones, and then he would simply recruit the vampires himself. So despite the enormity of the horror he was committing, Viktor gritted his teeth and continued.

"First, he will free you from the constraints of the Minsk Convention of 1727. Furthermore, as long as you follow his orders, Lord Orochimaru will provide you with a limited supply of wizard blood."

The silence in the clearing became, if possible, even more complete. Whatever inducements the vampires had been expecting, that certainly wasn't one of them. While vampires preferred human blood to almost any other kind, it was wizard blood that they craved most. As magical creatures themselves, vampires were able to absorb magic from the blood of wizards and witches, and to a limited extent from magical creatures like unicorns or dragons. A vampire who fed regularly on blood from magical humans became faster and stronger than its fellows, and rumor had it that they even gained varying degrees of magical resistance.

But wizards had held the upper hand in the fight against vampires for centuries, due to their greater numbers and the ability to use wands. Vampires' very existence relied on magic, but it all operated internally – they couldn't use magic to shape the physical world, the way wizards and witches did every day with their wands. So organizations like the Vampire Council had developed, to keep rogue vampires in check and ensure that the vampire population didn't invite its own destruction by feeding on wizards or witches.

At last, the lead vampire broke the silence. "It was a mistake for you to come here. You talk openly of rebellion, and I cannot risk the Wizarding governments suspecting my kind of conspiracy. We will present your heads to the Minister of Magic with our apologies. Brethren, take them!"

Krum launched into action, raising his wand to chest level as he shouted, "Boris, now!" His friend was already moving, flicking his wand out in a sweeping arc.

"_Lumos Maximus_!" Boris shouted, and white light flared from his wand until it lit the clearing like a sun, obliterating everything for a crucial moment in a sea of light. Cries of pain rose from dozens of mouths, and all around the two boys, vampires fell to their knees and clutched vainly at their eyes. Because of their aversion to sunlight, most vampires had excellent night vision and avoided daylight like the plague. Wandlight might not burn them to a crisp, but with Boris pouring all of his energy into the spell, it certainly burned their retinas like a high-powered flash grenade. Krum and Boris had planned their attack strategy beforehand, so they knew to keep their eyes shut.

Remembering how effectively Orochimaru had bound the Durmstrang students several weeks ago, Krum decided to use the same spell. "_Incarcerous_," he spat, and thick ropes bound the vampire leader in place.

Ignoring the unearthly howls all around him, Viktor advanced on his captive. The vampire kept his eyes shut and his mouth closed, though he had to be experiencing agony every bit as intense as his fallen brothers and sisters.

Boris kept step with Viktor, guarding his back and trying to watch every enemy at once. "Guess vampires don't know you're not supposed to kill the messengers."

"We don't want any trouble," Viktor said, raising his wand even though the vampire couldn't see it. "But we have been authorized to defend ourselves if necessary. Now, will you listen to the rest of our proposal, or must we take this further?"

"You have forgotten two things," the leader whispered, pain stretching his voice like a runner band at its breaking point. "First, your wands can only cast one spell at a time."

Krum, who was maintaining the rope spell, looked at Boris, who was still pumping light through his wand in pulsing waves. "Oh?" he asked. "And what's the second thing?"

"Your light spell only hurts those of my brethren who still have eyes to see. Kill them!"

At his shout, a cloaked figure that neither Viktor nor Boris had noticed jumped from an overhanging branch, reaching with claw-like hands. He moved slower than Orochimaru, but far faster than any human could have. With the sudden insight of a man facing death, Viktor knew that this vampire bodyguard must have preyed on wizards in the past, otherwise he couldn't possibly have moved so fast. The scar tissue covering both eye sockets suggested that he relied solely on smell and sound, so Boris' spell hadn't affected him. And now he was coming to rip out their throats.

But Viktor had one more trick up his sleeve – and it was literally up his sleeve, because it was his arm. With speed enhanced by desperation, Viktor raised his left arm, palm up, and began to manipulate the strange energy called chakra that Orochimaru had unlocked within him.

Once the energy spread down his arm, it reached the wand that Orochimaru had grafted to his fibula by means of a horrifically painful surgery, and jump-started a surge of magic. Viktor wrestled with the strange, hybrid blend of magic and chakra, forcing it into a whirling chaotic mass of magical energy that surged underneath his skin, demanding to be released. He obeyed, shooting a deadly beam of charged light from his palm toward the attacking vampire.

It didn't so much _hit_ the blind bodyguard as _erase_ him, obliterating his legs and most of his torso in a brilliant burst. Viktor hastily suppressed a sigh of relief. He hadn't been sure that Orochimaru's experimental surgery would work, since it had only been three days ago that he had agreed to the procedure and he hadn't had many chances to test it.

The twisted madman had surgically inserted a wand into Viktor's left arm, with the tip resting just below his palm. Orochimaru had also artificially widened something called his "chakra coils," allowing Viktor to build up chakra and cast spells with the hidden wand. Now Viktor was a living weapon, capable of casting multiple spells at once, using chakra to eliminate the need for complicated wand movements or incantations. Viktor wasn't exactly sure how it worked, but the fact that it did work was fairly clear, judging from the few remaining pieces of the blind vampire.

If he'd been given a choice, Viktor would rather have died than be some kind of magical guinea pig. However, Orochimaru had promised that if he didn't undergo the so-called "Magical Augmentation process," then the would-be Dark Lord would use one of the First Formers as his test subject. To keep them safe and intact for as long as possible, Viktor had agreed to be treated like a human lab rat. It was, he supposed, a silver lining that the hidden wand actually worked as it was supposed to.

"Cerce's Blood and Merlin's Bones!" Boris exclaimed. "So _that's_ what Orochimaru did to you!"

The vampire leader opened his eyes slowly, blinking rapidly against the harsh glow of Boris' wand. He watched Viktor with wary respect. "What are you?" He said it matter-of-factly, without awe or resentment, just natural curiosity.

Viktor grimaced, and he didn't even try to hide the self-loathing in his voice. "I am what Lord Orochimaru has made me." _A monster_. "You have twenty-four hours to consider our offer. Once that time is up, a new representative will arrive to transport you and your fellows to a meeting place of Lord Orochimaru's choosing. There you will agree upon the terms of the alliance. If you refuse to appear, or if you attempt to alert the rest of the Wizarding World, you will be stamped out and eradicated like vermin. Is that understood?"

"I understand you perfectly well, wizard," the vampire said quietly. "Will you release me now?"

Viktor dropped his hand to his side, and the ropes dissolved into smoke. Boris finally allowed his light spell to dissipate, and darkness again reigned in the clearing. Viktor grimaced again, but he had been given his closing remarks by Orochimaru himself, and had orders to deliver them word for word.

"Do not despair," he said, pitching his voice to carry. "By becoming allies with Lord Orochimaru, you are liberating yourselves. No more shall you subsist on forest creatures and blood-flavored lollipops. You will feast upon the blood of Lord Orochimaru's enemies, and earn the chance to rise high in his favor. If you impress him with your loyalty and initiative, there are no limits to the rewards he will bestow." Viktor raised his wand, watching how most vampires cringed away when he swept it forward. "Not even magic is out of reach for the vampires who impress our Lord. Remember my words, and heed them well."

Viktor saw the speculative light flare up in the vampire leader's bloodred eyes, and he was deathly afraid for the future. Boris held the ring Portkey at arm's length; they each touched it with one finger, the Portkey activated, and they disappeared.

oOoOo

Charlie Weasley was no coward. It was no accident that he had been drawn to dragons – they were some of the most dangerous creatures known to wizardkind, and Charlie loved the thrill he got matching wills with beasts that could roast the meat right off an unwary wizard's bones.

Nor was Charlie a stranger to pain. Burns, scrapes, and even bite wounds were common occurrences working on a dragon preserve, and Charlie had once prided himself on his ability to withstand injuries that would hospitalize most witches and wizards. During his stay in the Durmstrang dungeons, however, Charlie discovered that he was a novice of pain. The Cruciatus Curse gave him a new appreciation for agony. Words failed him when it came to describing what it felt like, and even his thoughts shrank from contemplating that soul-consuming pain.

But all of that suffering, the accumulated horror of so many days of torture that he had lost count, was as a candle to a bonfire when compared to what Charlie felt when Orochimaru led Bill Weasley into his cell.

A raw, primal scream ripped from Charlie's throat, and he strained to get at Orochimaru, heedless of the unforgiving chains cutting into his wrists. He didn't even feel the hot blood dripping from his hands.

A nimbus of magical energy began to emanate around Charlie, manifesting without his direction in answer to his despair. His chains, the floor beneath his feet, even the walls began to vibrate, trembling as if the dungeon was one giant tuning fork. With a thundering crash, a chunk of rock from the ceiling directly above Orochimaru broke off and fell faster than gravity could account for, forced by Charlie's surge of magic to target his captor.

Orochimaru moved faster than a striking viper, pushing Bill forward and then lashing upward with one foot. The vast rock simply broke in half, falling away to either side. Rock dust gravel rained down for a moment more, and suddenly Charlie felt like a wrung-out rag. He slumped to his knees.

"Well, that was unexpected," Orochimaru drawled, brushing a bit of dust off his wizard's robes. "It seems adult wizards are also capable of accidental magic, if given the proper incentive. That is… interesting."

Charlie didn't have it in him to respond. He looked first to Bill, who was smiling at him sadly. "Nice try," said the oldest Weasley boy. "You almost squashed the little cockroach."

"Now, now," said Orochimaru fondly, gently pushing Bill forward to stand next to Charlie. "Is that any way to talk about your prospective employer? This is something of an interview, after all – you should try to make a good impression."

"Go to hell, worm," Charlie spat, drawing strength from Bill's comforting presence at his side, though he knew the comfort was merely an illusion. "We'd rather die than serve you."

Orochimaru looked both of them up and down, like a man examining horses he intends to buy. "You place a surprising amount of trust in your brother's resolve. How do you know he would be as stubborn as you?"

Bill laughed quietly, despite the fact that there was nothing much to laugh about. "Where do you think he learned it from?"

"You can't imagine how nice it is to find wizards with backbone in this soft world," Orochimaru mused, licking his lips with a tongue that was too red. "But do try to apply some logic to your situation. If I could get to both of you so easily, who's to say I couldn't do the same to your lovely parents? Your brothers? Or even – dare I say it – little Ginny?"

"How do you know her name?" Bill asked, shocked beyond his ability to stay calm.

"Just one of the many facts I pulled from your brother's mind. I also know how the location of the Burrow, and two secret passages into Hogwarts. Do you really think that if I set my mind to it, I can't reach any member of your family that I want?"

"They are under Dumbledore's protection," said Charlie, but he couldn't even convince himself. No matter how extraordinary Dumbledore might be, he was still only human. Orochimaru was more like a demon from a nightmare made flesh.

Orochimaru's eyes glinted – he knew Charlie didn't believe what he was saying.

"Will you swear an oath?" Bill asked suddenly. "A magically binding oath that you won't harm our family if we cooperate?"

Having gained the upper hand, Orochimaru was all oily grace and understanding. "Of course. An oath for an oath – what a civilized agreement. Shall I begin?" He raised his wand questioningly.

"Bill!" Charlie cried. "What are you playing at?"

"Do we have any choice?!" Bill shouted. "We're already dead; there's nothing we can do to change that. It's our responsibility to protect our family as best we can. There's going to be a war whether we help or not. At least this way, Mum and Dad and the rest of them will be safe."

"Are you sure about this?"

Bill caught his gaze, and then Charlie saw the glint in his older brother's eyes. Bill might sound defeated, but he wasn't broken. And if Charlie had learned anything growing up at the Burrow, it was that Bill always had a plan. Fred and George might think that they were the best pranksters the world had ever known, but Bill could have run rings around them if he had ever had a mind to.

Very well. He would trust his brother… of course, it wasn't like he had many other options.

Charlie sighed deeply. He looked at Orochimaru with weary resignation. "Do it."

Orochimaru flourished his wand. "I, Orochimaru of the Sannin, swear on my magic that I will not harm Molly, Arthur, Percy, Fred, George, Ron, or Ginny, so long as Bill and Charlie Weasley honor their oaths to me." The spell wrapped his wand arm in bands of light that flared and then disappeared. Charlie was sure that Orochimaru had named all of their family members on purpose, as a reminder of his hold over them, and hated him all the more for it.

"That should suffice," Orochimaru practically purred. "Now it's your turn."

Charlie and Bill obediently repeated the words of the Threefold Vow, grimacing as they felt the magic take hold, like an internal parasite that one could sense even as it fed.

Orochimaru waved his wand one last time, and the chains holding Charlie captive disappeared. Their new master put his wand away and rubbed his hands with sick anticipation. "Charlie, we'll have to get you installed in the Nursery. That's what the smaller boys have taken to calling the room where our dragon eggs are incubating – aren't they precious? For now, consider yourself Durmstrang's new Care of Magical Creatures Professor. As for you, Bill, I think we're going to have some very illuminating discussions about ward construction and removal. As a Gringotts Curse-Breaker, I'm sure I will learn a lot from you. I believe there's also going to be an elective this year on Advanced Curses – you'll be teaching that one. Oh, this is going to be such _fun_!"

As Orochimaru led the two Weasley brothers away from the dungeon, their thoughts were running in two very different directions. Charlie was contemplating bleakly the prospect of Orochimaru owning a whole flight of dragons, and using them to rain down terror on the Wizarding World.

Bill, however, was preoccupied with something else entirely. A part of his mind was running on autopilot, making sure that his Occlumency barriers were still intact. From what he'd experienced when Orochimaru had first captured him, Bill knew that Orochimaru was far from an expert in mind-reading. He knew the theory, but the invader from another world did not have the lifetime of magical experience necessary to be aware when a trained wizard was blocking access to certain parts of his mind.

Bill, like many members of the Order of the Phoenix, had been practicing his Occlumency ever since Dumbledore first sent out word over a year ago that the Wizarding World faced a new threat. Bill might be forced to serve at Orochimaru's whim, but that did not mean he was helpless. And this Threefold Vow, or whatever it was called, was not the perfect safeguard that Orochimaru probably believed it to be.

As a Curse-Breaker with years of experience and no small amount of talent, Bill knew one thing with complete certainty: no matter what it might be called, no spell was truly unbreakable. That was as true for the Unbreakable Vow as anything else.

Bill focused inward, trying to isolate the feeling of wrongness within himself that was the magical trace of the Vow he had sworn. Gently, ever so gently, he tried to pulse the magic in his body. The foul taint within him seemed to _shift_ a bit – that was the only way he could describe it – before settling back again. There had only been the slightest change, but it was something, and Bill had bought himself some time to experiment further.

Bill controlled the grin that threatened to spread across his face. As his little brother Ron would say, he might own less pieces, but this game was far away from checkmate. The day was coming when Orochimaru would regret making enemies of the Weasleys.


	25. The Dragons of Durmstrang

**A/N: **Hello, everyone! Here's the next installment, which continues the three-pronged adventures of the Golden Trio, Draco and his new friends Luna and Dobby, and the boys at Durmstrang.

Updates will speed up during the next month, but not by that much – I'm starting up a new life in Singapore, and there's an entire new city to explore! But the Professor's Journey will go on, so be ready for updates. I've got most of the current year planned out, and there's a hell of a finale in store. If you liked the chaos of last year's final battle, then you'll love what happens this year – I guarantee it.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Harry Potter or Naruto

**Chapter 24: The Dragons of Durmstrang**

Draco's first day of classes seemed to stretch on interminably. He was constantly distracted by the weight of the little vial in his robes, and as soon as Professor Binns finished his lecture on the Werewolf Purges of the 1870s, Draco practically sprinted to the library. Madame Pince directed him to a shelf that contained dozens of almanacs on potion recognition, where he grabbed as many as he could carry. Then he found a small table tucked into a corner where he could work undisturbed.

There were some very helpful tables in the first book's appendix, which listed hundreds of potions and categorized them according to color, viscosity, odor, and a few other key properties. The potion he was working on was a deep, molten gold, and that cut down the possibilities a great deal. With the odorless nature of the liquid he was able to eliminate a few more options, but there he ran into a wall.

He spent the next hour learning everything he could about the potions on his short list, but he still didn't know how to figure out for sure which was in the vial. It was extremely frustrating, until Draco realized that he now knew how to brew ten potions that he had never heard of before. It seemed that Snape's little assignment had a deeper purpose than he had first thought. Still, that didn't bring him any closer to finishing his project.

A quiet disturbance at a nearby table caught Draco's eye. A trio of Ravenclaw fourth-years hovered around a student sitting alone, and it seemed like they were tormenting the girl with a persistence that would have rivaled Draco's back in the days when he ran around with Crabbe and Goyle. One had stolen her quill, and another was dripping ink on her notebook. The third Ravenclaw shifted to the left, and Draco caught a glimpse of pale blond hair, even lighter than his own. He recognized that hair – it was Luna Lovegood, the girl who had told him about thestrals.

Without thinking, Draco shoved back his chair and marched over to Luna's table. The older Ravenclaws were so intent on their bullying that they didn't notice Draco at first. He decided to emulate Umbridge, and coughed loudly. Finally they turned around, but before Draco could say a word, Madame Pince appeared like a wraith from around some corner.

"_Shhh!_" she hissed, flapping her bony hands at them.

Draco opened his mouth and said the first words that came to mind. "Madame Pince! I'm so glad you're here. See, my friends here were asking about advanced Arithmancy texts. It sounds fascinating, but neither Luna nor I have any idea where to find books like that. Do you think you could help them?"

Madame Pince stared at Draco, and then at the Ravenclaws, who were doing their very best to look inquisitive rather than guilty. The librarian pursed her lips shrewdly, then bore off the Ravenclaws as if escorting them to their doom. That left Draco alone with Luna, and he stared at her awkwardly, not sure what to say.

"Thanks," said the blond witch. "That was very kind of you."

"It wasn't a problem," Draco replied. "But, er… why did you just sit there and let them do that to you? Now you have to replace an entire notebook. You could have called Madame Pince yourself, and gotten them all detention."

Luna merely shook her head, eyes unnervingly wide. "It's alright," she said calmly. "They lose interest eventually. It's easier to wait them out."

Draco didn't believe that at all. If people thought you were weak, then they walked over you to get what they wanted. That's what his father had taught him all his life, and that's what Orochimaru proved when he killed people simply because he could. To be safe, you had to be strong. But somehow, Draco didn't think now was the time for that conversation.

"Why do they hate you so much? Aren't you in the same House?"

Luna twirled a lock of her hair quizzically, examining it as if it contained a mystery. "Their minds all work in straight lines. Mine doesn't. It makes them uncomfortable."

Draco shrugged. It made sense, although he was having trouble accepting that Raveclaws could be bullies. He had thought they didn't care about anything outside of their books.

"Your mind used to work in a straight line," said Luna suddenly, making Draco jump. He looked at her cautiously.

"What do you mean?"

"Last year you weren't nice at all." Draco spluttered a little bit at this bold statement, but Luna carried on, unperturbed. "You and your friends, the large ones, used to do the same thing to others that those Ravenclaws did to me. But you're different now. You stopped them when you could have just ignored them. Why?"

Draco felt uncomfortably like he was being interrogated, and those wide eyes were a tad too knowing for his taste. "I don't…" he stammered, "I just… I mean, we met in the carriage, and…"

"So if you had never met me, and you saw someone getting bullied, would you have done the same thing?"

"Of course not!" he burst out, then stopped, flustered. "I mean- that is, what I meant-"

Luna reached out and patted him on the shoulder. "Your logic is flawed," she said, smiling. "But that's ok. Even Ravenclaws don't get it right away. I'll help you, don't worry."

"Er… thanks?" Draco realized he had lost control of this conversation long ago. Talking with Luna was like treading water in the ocean – before you knew it, the undertow had pulled you far away from where you thought you were.

Luna took hold of Draco's hands and squeezed gently. "I think I must have been very lucky to meet you," she said earnestly. Then she left, leaving Draco speechless behind her. He stared around in a panic, hoping that no one had seen him, the heir to the Malfoy line, holding hands with a _girl_. But there was something… well, _nice_, about someone else thinking they were lucky to have met you. Draco couldn't remember anyone saying that to him before.

It was too bad, really, that Draco was in Slytherin and Luna was in Ravenclaw. The poor girl was still going to be bullied by her classmates – it wasn't like Draco could protect her all the time, after all.

Then Draco had an idea. His eyes lit up, and he almost tripped in his haste to gather up his things. There was someone he had to see.

The Hogwarts kitchens were like a rabbit warren, with hundreds of twists and turns. The tantalizing smells coming from every side also made navigation difficult, since it was hard to resist following your nose wherever it led you. But Draco had a self-appointed mission, and wouldn't let himself be distracted.

"Dobby?" Draco called hesitantly. There were dozens of House Elves milling around, scurrying around like industrious ants, but none of them were his friend.

"Here, Master Draco, sir!" Dobby appeared at Draco's elbow with a sharp _crack_, and the elf looked so happy to see him that Draco had to smile. It was deeply shaming to Draco when he thought about how he used to treat the little elf. He had ordered the loyal servant to iron his ears on multiple occasions, and yet when Dobby had a choice to go free, he had stayed to protect Draco. The more Draco lived on his own, the more he thought that maybe, just maybe, his father's philosophy was flawed. He didn't like to think about that, though, because it felt like he was being disloyal to the dead.

"How are you, Dobby?" Draco asked, fending off an exuberant hug with a laugh. He might be friends with Dobby, but a Malfoy did not hug. Dobby wore the same style of cut pillowcase that most House Elves used for clothing, but a gold chain glinted around his neck. On the end of the chain, Draco knew, was a pendant emblazoned with the family crest of the Malfoys. It was a treasured heirloom of his family, and Draco had given it to Dobby before leaving for the Hogwarts Express.

"Dobby is wonderful, Master Draco," the House Elf enthused, beaming happily. "Hogwarts is being such a nice place. But why is you visiting so soon? Not that Dobby minds," Dobby said hastily, "but doesn't Master have homework and things?"

"Homework _is _important, but I'll make sure to come visit you often," Draco promised, deftly snagging a cinnamon roll from a passing tray. The House Elf carrying the tray only smiled and shook her head, as if to say, "boys will be boys."

"But I'm here today for a special reason. Do you think you could do me a favor?"

Dobby's eyes shone. "Anything, Master Draco!" Then he paused, as if considering. "Well, not anything… Dobby won't kill Harry Potter, not even for Master Draco. Maybe the red-haired one, though…"

Draco fell over himself exclaiming that he didn't want to kill Ron, when he realized that the House Elf was shaking with suppressed laughter. "Dobby – you just made a joke!" he spluttered.

Dobby swept him a little bow that, if Draco hadn't known better, he might have called ironic. "What is Master's favor?"

"There's a girl named Luna Lovegood, a second year in Ravenclaw," Draco said, pushing aside Dobby's budding sense of humor for later contemplation. "She's been having some trouble with bullies, and I thought maybe you could help her out. I can't be there all the time, you see, because I have different classes and things…" not to mention, if anyone from Slytherin saw him protecting Luna, it might jeopardize his standing with them, which would hurt his ability to act as a spy for Dumbledore.

"What does Master Draco want Dobby doing to these bullies?" Dobby's anticipatory smile made Draco wonder if his own quest for revenge had possibly taught Dobby a few lessons. There was some definite mischief lurking in those wide, all-too-innocent eyes.

Draco shook his head hastily. "Nothing that might get you in trouble, Dobby. I think they mostly do things like stealing her school supplies, things like that. If you could just watch out for her, maybe return her belongings if it's necessary, that should be enough. Although…" Draco's mood darkened as a thought occurred to him. "If it ever looks like she might actually get hurt, then you have my permission to use your imagination. That sort of behavior ought to be… discouraged."

Dobby gave him a nod of complete understanding. "Dobby will be a watchful guardian," the elf promised, ears quivering earnestly. "He will be swift and cunning like a Malfoy, and anyone who bothers Miss Lovegood will be very sorry!"

Draco worried, for a moment, that he might have just created a monster. But if it was for a good cause, well… so be it.

Draco smiled warmly at the diminutive bodyguard. "Thank you, Dobby. I knew I could count on you."

Dobby executed an over-eager salute, almost knocking himself over. "Master's girlfriend will be safe, Dobby swears it!" Then he disappeared with a thunderous _crack_.

"Great, that's – wait! _Girlfriend?!_ Damn it, Dobby, that's not what I-" Draco cut himself off quickly, realizing that the other House Elves were watching him yell into thin air. _Later_, he promised himself, hurrying out of the kitchens. _Dobby and I are going to have a long conversation about this newfound sense of humor._

As Draco walked back to the Slytherin common room, Luna's words in the library came back to him. They still gave him the same warm feeling they had the first time, and he realized it was the same way he felt when Dobby had been so happy to see him. What was it Luna had said? Right – she was lucky to have met him.

"Lucky," he murmured, and with the word came a flash of insight. "Snape, you dastard! I know exactly what your bloody potion is!"

He rushed back to the library, ruthlessly ignoring his growing weariness. Sleep could wait – he had a diagnostic spell to look up, which would confirm his hunch. He would have to work fast, if he wanted to finish before his Potions class tomorrow.

oOoOo

Hermione finished reading their Defense Against the Dark Arts text the first night back, and so her friends knew what to expect when they entered Umbridge's classroom and were told to put away their wand. A groan rose from the other Gryffindors, who were still becoming accustomed to the idea that Defense classes this year wouldn't be at all like Professor Sarutobi's.

"Good morning, class," Umbridge chirped, her fluffy pink cardigan hurting Harry's eyes. When no one responded, she said it again. This time a ragged chorus answered her.

"That's much better. Welcome to Defense Against the Dark Arts. At the Ministry, we know that a thorough grounding in all areas of magic is vital to a comprehensive education. That being said, it is appalling what you children have been exposed to in this class during previous years."

"Hey!" Dean Thomas exclaimed. "Professor Sarutobi was the best teacher we've ever had! We learned more in a single class from him than in a year from Quirrell."

Angry murmurs of agreement came from the other Gryffindors, until Umbridge silenced them with a loud cough. Her voice was falsely sweet, and dangerous. "As it is my first class and you have no way of knowing what I expect of you, I will cut you some slack. But be aware that while I am your teacher, you will raise your hand if you expect to talk. Is that understood?"

No answer. "I asked, is that _understood?_"

Harry joined in with the rest: "_Yes, Professor Umbridge_."

"Now, it is my duty to inform you that Hiruzen Sarutobi is a fraud and a criminal. He was never accredited to teach at Hogwarts, and the Ministry strongly suspects that he is working hand in glove with the mass murderer Sirius Black."

There was an even louder outcry than before. Harry, Ron, and Hermione were the only ones to remain silent, and they shared worried looks. The situation was heating up faster than they had anticipated, and they hadn't even done anything. Umbridge tapped her wand on the desk, and a thunderclap echoed through the room, bringing silence in its wake. "_Hands_, children. Any forum for public discussion must follow regulations, or it becomes chaos."

Hands shot up instantly, which Umbridge ignored. Instead, her beady eyes locked on to Harry. "I hear he took particular pains teaching you, Mr. Potter," she purred. "Do you also believe he was an exemplary teacher?"

Harry shrugged. "He seemed to know a lot; I never would have guessed he wasn't accredited. I guess it just goes to show that you can't be too trusting." He tried not to sound ironic – it wouldn't do if Umbridge thought he was mocking her.

Her gaze sharpened, and Harry fought to keep his expression mild. It seemed like she wanted him to get mad at her, and the last thing Harry wanted to do was play into the enemy's hands. Eventually she gave up the staring contest, and went back to the lesson, ignoring the other hands until the Gryffindors put them down.

The lesson might have continued in silence, with Harry's classmates nursing their anger, if Hermione hadn't decided to ask a strategic question. "Excuse me, Professor Umbridge," she said, raising her hand high.

"Yes, Miss Granger?"

"It's about your course aims," she said. "There doesn't seem to be anything mentioned about actually _using_ defensive spells?" She phrased the observation as a question, and used her most polite tone. But Harry almost laughed at the way the other Gryffindors suddenly snapped to attention and began to reread the sentences their new teacher had written on the blackboard.

"Of course you won't have to _use_ the spells," Umbridge snapped. "Do you expect to be attacked in my classroom?"

Hermione knew better than to answer that question, but Parvati didn't. "But we _were_ attacked, Professor! It happened at the end of last year-" she stopped suddenly, under Umbridge's expectant eye. But she raised her hand immediately.

"I'd wondered if that might come up," Umbridge mused quietly. "Tell me, class, what you think happened at the end of last year."

By this time the students were well schooled – they raised their hands. "Yes, Mr. Thomas?"

"None of us really saw what happened," he began, "except for Harry, Ron, and Hermione. But Professor Sarutobi carried Professor Sprout and Professor McGonagall into the room with us – they were Stunned! And Professor Dumbledore awarded them all Awards for Special Services to the School. And I heard one of the portraits say that they saved all our lives! So how can you say that we don't need to practice spells, when not even Hogwarts is safe?!"

"The Ministry is protecting you, that's how I can say that," Umbridge replied sharply. "There is a team of Dementors guarding us at this very minute."

"They were guarding Azkaban too," Dean pointed out hotly, "and Sirius Black still managed to escape!"

Harry cringed, expecting Umbridge to take Dean to task for being so confrontational. Instead, Umbridge turned once again towards him.

"Well, Mr. Potter?" Umbridge asked pointedly. "Do you share your friend's concern?"

"I dunno," Harry said dully, furious about having to play along with this odious creature. "My memories of that day are pretty much a blur. Madame Pomfrey says it's because of blood loss… But I trust you and the Ministry, Professor. If you say we should let the Dementors take care of us, that's exactly what I'll do."

He gave her his biggest smile, and hoped it didn't look too insincere. At the same time, he was conscious of the betrayed looks he was getting from Dean, Seamus, Parvati, and Lavender. It made him feel distinctly sick to his stomach, but there was nothing he could say to them right now.

Then Harry saw Umbridge's look of frustrated rage, and it puzzled him. Shouldn't she have been glad that he was agreeing with her? It gave her more credibility with the students, if the supposed hero of the battle sided with her. But it looked more as if Umbridge _wanted _Harry to deny her.

_You want me to stand up to you, don't you? Too bad, you old toad… I'm not the wide-eyed idiot I used to be. If you want to fight, you can be sure I won't fight fair._

Ron and Hermione were busy shooting insistent looks at the other Gryffindors, trying to get them to shut up. Harry sat in his seat with his hands primly folded, book open to the first chapter. The lack of support from Harry, Ron, and Hermione took the wind out of everyone's sails, and they stopped arguing with Umbridge.

"Very well, children," said Umbridge in her sticky-sweetest voice, "we shall continue with the lesson."

After the Defense class broke up, Harry, Ron, and Hermione were swamped by their classmates, most of whom were extremely angry. With some difficulty, Harry kept them from talking until they were safely back in the Gryffindor common room.

"What were you three playing at?" Dean snarled. "Telling us to learn how to fight Dementors, then agreeing to everything Umbridge said… trying to make us look stupid or something?"

"I'm sure they had a reason," Neville said confidently. Harry was touched by this show of loyalty.

"Of course we did!" Ron exclaimed. "Do you think Umbridge is going to listen to anything we say? Arguing with her will land us all in detention, and it won't change a bloody thing!"

"Not only that, but she could even get your families in trouble with the Ministry," Hermione added. "I've researched her career, and she isn't very nice to her political opponents."

"I lied to her," Harry told his classmates patiently. "I remember perfectly what happened last year, and it sure as hell wasn't Sirius Black. But the Ministry ignored Dumbledore when he tried to tell them what happened, so I'm not about to waste my breath with Umbridge. Here's my advice: keep your heads down, like we did in class today. Do what Umbridge says, and don't get into trouble. But practice spells on your own time."

Finally, his classmates started to think it over. Neville, at least, seemed entirely satisfied. Dean and Seamus were still a little angry about the way Harry had acted during class, but Harry was sure that a few more days of Umbridge would convince them that he was only looking out for their safety.

"Even if we don't get to practice spells during class," Hermione said hesitantly, "we can work on them during our study sessions."

"And there's always Dueling Club," Ron pointed out, trying to sound as if he had just thought of the idea, when in fact this entire conversation had been planned out in advance by Hermione. "If Umbridge won't teach us, we'll have to teach ourselves. Just like Professor Sarutobi always said – never stop learning. Always be prepared."

That ended the conversation for that night – it might have helped that the first meeting of the Dueling Club was scheduled for the next day, directly after Charms. However, when they reached the Great Hall, Flitwick was standing in front of closed doors, looking as upset as Harry had ever seen him. "Club is cancelled today, and for the foreseeable future," he squeaked. "I'm appealing to Dumbledore, but I doubt he'll be able to do anything."

Harry shook his head. Umbridge was moving fast. The only positive thing about the Dueling Club being canceled was that anti-Umbridge sentiment was growing faster than he could have imagined. The Dueling Club had been enormously popular last year, from the very first meeting when Sarutobi had fought Snape. In the first week of school, Harry, Ron, and Hermione were approached by a number of older students who were upset that they wouldn't have a chance to duel them again.

"I was practicing all summer," Cedric Diggory complained. "I'm sure you three did the same, but I had a few tricks I wanted to try out."

"Maybe you'll still get a chance," Harry said carefully. "You never know what might happen."

Cedric looked at him sharply, then nodded. "I'll be waiting, then. At least Umbridge can't cancel Quidditch, so I'll be able to challenge you out on the pitch.

That night, Harry, Ron, and Hermione held a strategy session in the Common Room. Hermione cast a Charm that nullified all sound originating within the spell's radius – they could hear each other, but no one else could.

"I reckon it's time to start our own Dueling Club," said Ron immediately. "Everybody hates Umbridge, and they want to be able to defend themselves. All we have to do is show them how."

"We shouldn't move too soon," Hermione cautioned. "Not everyone would trust our word over the Ministry, and some people might join up only to betray us."

"Like Malfoy, only in reverse," Harry agreed. "I wouldn't put it past Umbridge to try recruiting students to spy for her."

"But the longer we wait, the more vulnerable we are!" Ron insisted. "The advantage always belongs to the side that attacks first. If all we're doing is playing defense, then it doesn't matter whether it's Umbridge, Orochimaru, or even Voldemort who attacks first – we're screwed no matter what."

"That's true," Hermione allowed, "but if we overextend ourselves, we're just as vulnerable. Do you really think we can take on an army of Dementors? If Umbridge gets the idea that we're training students in combat, Dumbledore won't have a prayer of keeping those monsters off the grounds."

"Hermione," Harry cut in, exercising his unofficial status as the leader of their team. It was something that Sarutobi had taught them – every team needed a leader, someone to shoulder the responsibility and have the final say in decisions. It made for quicker responses in a crisis. At first Harry had felt awkward filling that role, but Ron and Hermione had long since made it clear that they trusted him to do the right thing. He also knew how best to utilize their skills – Ron's genius for developing strategy, and Hermione's fearsome intelligence and ability to modify spells to adapt to changing situations. "Do you think, if we start up some kind of underground Dueling Club, that we could keep tabs on our members – magically, I mean?"

"I can think of a few ways," Hermione said, narrowing her eyes in concentration. "It'll take time, though."

"Fair enough. Ron's right, though – we can't wait for too long. Here's what I think we should do. Let's bring in the other Gryffindors, the ones we can trust. Neville, Dean, Seamus, Lavender, Parvati, and the twins. Oh, and Ginny, too. We can use Sarutobi's dojo. Since it's in our dorm, there's no chance of Umbridge finding out."

"I like it," Ron agreed. "No risk of exposure. We can start teaching our friends, and expand to members of other Houses once Hermione's sure we can minimize the risk."

Hermione squared her shoulders. "I'll spend some time in the library this weekend. Maybe I can find us a place to meet, once we bring in a larger group. It would look weird if Hufflepuffs or Ravenclaws were always coming to Gryffindor Tower."

"Our first study group is tomorrow, right?" Harry confirmed. Ron nodded. "Good. This way we won't waste any time."

Hermione looked at the grandfather clock on the mantel above the fireplace. "Speaking of time…"

"Oh, right!" Harry exclaimed. "I was so focused on our plans, I almost forgot."

"Meet you outside in a minute," Ron said. "We shouldn't be seen leaving together."

Harry went up to the dorm so that he could retrieve his Invisibility Cloak. Hermione and Ron waited for him in the corridor, and once they ascertained that no one was around, they huddled together under the cloak and disappeared from sight.

As they walked through the halls towards one of the secret passageways out of the castle, Harry reflected that they had all grown over the summer. Fitting the three of them under one cloak was no longer as effortless as it used to be. Although they had never used the secret passageway to Honeyduke's before, Fred and George had briefed them about how to access it. The Marauder's Map might be acting as Hogwart's security system now, but since it didn't track students' movements, they would be fine.

It was pitch dark by the time they found their way out of Honeyduke's, and most of the shops in Hogsmeade were closed for the night. Only the windows of the Hog's Head still shone brightly. A few minutes more and the three Gryffindors reached the meeting place that Sarutobi had designated at the end of the summer: the Shrieking Shack.

"How do we get in?" Ron asked. "The door's all boarded up."

"I dunno," Harry said, stumped. "Sarutobi said our new teacher would meet us here. Maybe we should knock?"

"Aye," came a fierce whisper to their left. "Wake up the whole bloody neighborhood, why don't you? Daft fools!"

"Is that you, Mr. Moody?" Hermione asked.

The grizzled old Auror appeared in splotches of color as his Disillusionment Charm dispelled. "What do you think?"

Harry swept off the cloak. "I think Mad-Eye Moody would know what form his Patronus took when it saved us from the Dementors on the train."

Moody's blue eye whizzed and whirled before fixing on Harry with an approving wink. "Very good, Mr. Potter. Thanks to that ruddy Polyjuice Potion, you can't trust your own eyes anymore. My Patronus is a bear."

"And a big, fat, fluffy one, at that!"

Harry spun around and cried out joyfully, "Sirius!"

The infamous Azkaban escapee and the Ministry's most wanted criminal ruffled Harry's hair. "Hallo, Harry. Sarutobi decided Moody could use an extra hand teaching the three of you."

"What about the Dementors?" Hermione asked. "Isn't this a little reckless?"

"The Ministry doesn't really think I'm going to attack Hogwarts," Sirius answered. "They think Dumbledore is giving me aid. The Dementors are here to keep an eye on him, and to keep him from giving me shelter. So really, haunting the Shrieking Shack is the last thing Umbridge would expect me to do."

"Besides," Mad-Eye said gruffly, "we use a Portkey, and I scout the area before I let the puppy follow. One whiff of Dementors, and we're gone. This ain't my first rodeo, Granger."

Harry was distracted for a moment wondering when Moody had learned American Muggle slang.

"Come on, then," Ron said, trying to herd the group toward the Shrieking Shack. "Let's get training already!"

Moody waved his wand, and the boards keeping the front door shut leapt aside. "Not a bad idea, Weasley. It's time you three learned the Patronus Charm."

Hermione raised her hand. "I was reading about that-"

"-in the library!" Harry and Ron chorused, trading a quick high five.

"-and the author said," Hermione continued, undeterred, "that practicing the Patronus Charm doesn't always help when you're faced with the real thing."

"We're a step ahead of you," Sirius grinned. "Or rather, Dumbledore is. One of the House Elves found something hiding in a cupboard that will meet our needs precisely. Tell me, have any of you ever heard of a Boggart?"

Harry and Ron just pointed to Hermione, and shook their heads as one.

oOoOo

Late one Monday afternoon, Viktor attended his advanced Care of Magical Creatures class. At least, that was how it was written on his schedule. While Orochimaru might be training up an army at Durmstrang, he went to great lengths to preserve the illusion that he was running a school. Viktor assumed that it amused Orochimaru to design new classes built around different aspects of magical warfare, while keeping the old names.

This particular Care of Magical Creatures class, for instance, was devoted to the training of dragons. Orochimaru's stolen eggs had hatched, and now his eight lieutenants, the so-called Eight Dragons, had dragons of their own to raise. Every afternoon, the boys met in the windswept field just outside the castle gates, now known as the Dragon Pen, to give their charges some exercise. They worked with the dragons under the watchful eye of Charlie Weasley, once Orochimaru's prisoner, now a professor and Orochimaru's trusted expert on magical beasts and monsters.

The redhead watched the 5th and 6th Formers critically, never hesitating to call out when he thought that any of the dragons were being mishandled.

But then, as far as Viktor was concerned, it was the dragon that was mishandling _him_! As if to support this assumption, the week-old Hungarian Horntail at the end of the long, leather leash lunged to the right, nearly dislocating Viktor's right arm.

"Valiant!" he yelled indignantly, struggling to bring the irrepressible creature to heel. "Get _back_ here!"

"Having trouble over there?" Boris called. He was grinning ear to ear, and scratching his dragon under the chin. Boris was raising a Ukrainian Ironbelly that he'd named Ivan the Terrible. However, Ivan had turned out to be an easy charge – all he wanted was food, sleep, and the attention that Boris was only too willing to lavish on his dragonet.

"He's as lazy as you are!" Viktor had exclaimed, feeling that the world was very much unjust. How did Boris get a dragon like that, and Viktor got a hell-raiser like Valiant? The Hungarian Horntail never stopped moving, and what had seemed almost cute in a day-old dragonet was quickly becoming exhausting – not to mention dangerous. Valiant was as willful as a bucking bronco, except broncos couldn't stretch their stubby wings and leave the ground in short bursts of almost-flight, dragging poor Viktor along in their wake. Nor could horses emit sudden burps of fire and smoke at their handlers, which Valiant did at every opportunity.

But then, every time the little dragon – although growing larger every day – truly pushed Viktor to the edge of his patience, it would sidle up beside him and nibble his fingers gently, gazing up at him with innocent eyes. Staying mad was impossible, no matter how hard he tried.

Most of Orochimaru's lieutenants felt the same way – the little dragons, although rambunctious and potentially lethal, were also dangerously cute. Looking around the Dragon Pen, Viktor could see that Orochimaru had wrought better than he knew: the bonds between the Eight Dragons and their fanged, fire-breathing partners were also cords tying them even more tightly to Orochimaru.

With a Hungarian Horntail and a Ukrainian Ironbelly, Viktor and Boris had the two largest dragons – Ivan was lazy and a glutton, while Valiant was stubborn and willful. Next were Sasha and Danila, Russian Fifth Formers who had been assigned Norwegian Ridgebacks. Like Sasha and Danila, the Ridgebacks became close friends, rarely venturing anywhere without the other. Their owners called them Tooth and Nail. Then there was Frederick, a Fifth Former from the Ukraine, who had the care of a Swedish Short-Snout named Stumpy. Frederick rarely talked, but he got top marks in all of his classes, and his dragon seemed to be markedly cleverer than the others.

Of the three Sixth Formers, Mikhail had once been the unquestioned leader. His status as Head Boy, his skill with the more destructive curses, and his implacable malice, had all made him a force to be reckoned with. But ever since Orochimaru had placed Viktor at the head of his new command structure, Mikhail's old followers had begun to realize that they might have a chance to rise to prominence. It didn't help that Mikhail had been given the smallest dragon of all, a Common Welsh Green he somewhat optimistically named Death. Mikhail had nearly thrown a fit when he learned that he wasn't getting the Horntail.

Eli and Matthias, the two other Six Formers and the final members of Durmstrang's Dragon Corps, had a Chinese Fireball and a Hebridean Black. Eli's Fireball was called Scorch, and Matthias had named his dragon Olaf, after a particularly mean uncle.

Every afternoon, the eight wizards gathered to play with their charges, and every afternoon they were amazed at how much their dragons had grown overnight. Looking at Valiant's wings, so much stronger than they had been, Viktor had to wonder when his dragonet was going to start flying. These classes would get a _lot _more interesting when that day arrived.

A muffled curse caught Viktor's attention, and he turned to where Mikhail was standing with his Welsh Green. Little Death had bitten the Head Boy's arm, tearing a few holes in his sleeve and shedding a few drops of blood. Charlie asked the boys to wear protective gear, but apparently Mikhail had decided not to put his on today.

"Stupid creature!" Mikhail snarled, raising his wand. "_Cruci-_"

Viktor barely had time to recognize that the Head Boy really was going to use an Unforgivable on his dragon, when a rough, callused hand caught Mikhail's in an iron-hard grip. Charlie Weasley twisted slightly, making Mikhail cry out in pain and drop his wand. The teacher caught it with his free hand, his face like a thundercloud.

Silence fell in the Dragon Pen, as the Durmstrang students tried to watch the spectacle without appearing to pay attention.

"Were you," said the redhead, "about to use an Unforgivable Curse on that dragon?"

"Let go!" spat Mikhail, squirming in an unsuccessful attempt to free his arm. "You don't get to touch me! I'm one of Lord Orochimaru's lieutenants. You're just some fool he kidnapped to keep our dragons healthy."

"You think you're bad?" Charlie whispered, though it carried far in the silence. "Sure, you know how to curse creatures who can't fight back. _I _would know that better than anyone. But we're not down in a dungeon anymore, you little punk. We're in _my _territory."

Charlie twisted Mikhail's arm behind his back and pointed at Death, who was watching the two humans with a confused look in his reptilian eyes. "You see that dragon?" Charlie asked rhetorically. "He thinks you're his mommy. Baby dragons in the wild roughhouse with their parents exactly like that. Sometimes they go too far, and mother dragons deal with misbehavior by strictly enforcing discipline. _Not_ by torturing their babies."

Viktor saw Boris nodding in approval, and realized that he was doing the same. He patted Valiant absently on the snout. No one was going to torture _his_ dragon! Charlie continued his lecture, maintaining the pressure on Mikhail's trapped arm.

"You are that dragon's mommy, Mikhail. And while you're in _my_ pen, I am your daddy. I will teach you the correct way to raise my grandchild, even if I have to break every bone in your body. Do I make myself clear?"

There was a moment of tense silence, punctuated by a cry of pain as Charlie jerked Mikhail's arm upward. "Yes," Mikhail muttered sullenly.

"And is this _your_ dragon pen, or is it your Daddy's pen?"

"…Yours."

"That's right." Charlie let Mikhail go, although not before pushing him off-balance, so he fell awkwardly. "Now get ahold of your dragon, and do it right this time. I'll keep your wand until the end of the lesson. You can have it back if I think you've learned something."

Mikhail maintained a stony silence for the next hour. Looking around at the other students, Viktor thought he detected some satisfied smirks, not always very well concealed. It was deeply worrying – these students, many of whom he had known for years, were already becoming accustomed to the violent competition that Orochimaru encouraged in his subordinates. They had all tasted power, and Viktor wasn't sure that any of the Durmstrang students besides Boris would be willing to give it up. Orochimaru's persuasion was undoubtedly effective – he was well on his way to winning the hearts and minds of the Dragon Corps. Once they were his entirely, the rest of Durmstrang's students wouldn't be far behind.

After the lesson, Boris came up to Viktor. "You know, that was the best lesson I think we've ever had. I can't remember the last time anyone so thoroughly embarrassed our beloved Head Boy."

Viktor had to agree, and he wondered if Boris had made the same observations about their teacher that he had. "You know," he said, looking around to check that they were alone, "Professor Weasley seems like a genuinely good person. And I don't know if you heard what he said before, but I think Mikhail might have tortured him on Orochimaru's orders."

A light came on in Boris' eyes, and he watched the retreating figure of their teacher with speculation. "Do you think-"

"-that he has reason to hate Orochimaru even more than we do?" Viktor answered. "Absolutely. In fact, I think we may need to visit his office soon."

"To talk about our dragons," Boris said with a knowing grin. "Nothing suspicious about that."

"That's right. We can't trust that Orochimaru hasn't gotten to him, and he _certainly_ won't trust us, but we should still make the effort."

"Where there's life, there's hope," Boris agreed. "And you know what else? I've been thinking – don't start!" he snapped, seeing Viktor's amused grin. "I've been thinking about our dragons, and I realized – _they_ haven't sworn an Unbreakable Vow…"

Viktor's jaw dropped. "Boris," he whispered, nonplussed. "You may have just been brilliant. I wonder if Professor Weasley, our resident dragon expert and unwilling prisoner of Orochimaru, might be able to offer some advice in that regard."

The two friends walked back to Durmstrang Castle, enjoying the unfamiliar glow of hope.


	26. Opening Moves

**A/N: **Hello again! I'm back with another chapter, and while this one is a little slow, there's a special treat at the end that I hope you'll enjoy. I hope to post the next chapter before long – it's been a little crazy starting up a new job in Singapore, and I apologize for the long waits between updates. I promise, this story will keep rolling, so if you're enjoying it please keep reviewing!

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Naruto or Harry Potter

**Chapter 25: Opening Moves**

**Draco**

Draco awoke with a sense of deep satisfaction, even though he'd barely slept the night before. Casting the diagnostic spell on Snape's potion had taken quite a bit of time, but in the end he got it to work. Now that he knew what the potion was, he was even more excited for the evening, when Snape would let him keep the potion as his reward. His imagination was racing, coming up with different situations in which the little vial in his inner pocket would come in handy.

But first, Draco had to make it through morning classes. Today, that meant Care of Magical Creatures with the newly-appointed Professor Rubeus Hagrid. Draco was actually looking forward to the lesson. He didn't know much about Hagrid except that he had attempted to raise a dragon in Draco's first year at Hogwarts. Malfoy shuddered, remembering the disastrous detention in the Forbidden Forest that had followed the whole dragon fiasco. Still, if that dragon was any indication, Hagrid was both willing and able to bring students into contact with dangerous, deadly, and most of all _interesting_ beasts. Depending on what the enormous Groundskeeper-turned-Professor had in store, this class might actually have some practical value.

It was a double class that morning, combining Slytherin and Gryffindor third years. As students trickled into the paddock outside of Hagrid's hut, Draco made sure to sneer openly at Harry and his friends. He had to keep up appearances in front of his Housemates, after all. Ron Weasley rose to the occasion nicely, flashing a rude hand sign at Draco. _Prat,_ Draco thought, though he felt almost fond of the redhead. Ron was thoroughly uncomplicated and utterly dependable – a little like Dobby, in fact – and lately, Draco had come to appreciate those traits more and more.

Theodore Nott was walking with more swagger than usual, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle. It was still strange to see, but Draco found that he enjoyed the sense of freedom that came from not having the two bodyguards following after him. Nott was welcome to them – Draco was still a force to be reckoned with, and everyone knew it. The other Slytherins were well aware that Draco neither asked for nor needed their pity, and they respected that. Pity was for the weak, and Slytherins despised nothing more than weakness.

When the last of the stragglers arrived, Hagrid came out of his hut. He was rubbing his spade-like hands excitedly, beaming like anything.

"Mornin', you lot!" he boomed. "It's yer firs' lesson o' the year, an' my firs' lesson ever, so I've prepared sommat extra special for yeh." 

Draco wondered why Harry, Ron, and Hermione all went pale at the same time.

The class followed Hagrid down towards the outskirts of the Forbidden Forest, and Draco began to experience an unpleasant sense of déjà vu. But they didn't go very far in, stopping once they reached a clearing filled with winged horses.

Draco first thought they were thestrals, but these creatures weren't as gaunt or skeletal. They looked every bit as menacing as the winged horses that pulled the carriages, however, and a good deal more regal.

"These 'ere are hippogriffs," Hagrid announced to the class. Students huddled together, not sure they wanted to get too close to those hooves. "Wonderful creatures, hippogriffs are. On'y thing you oughter remember is they're powerful proud beasts. Have ter earn their respect, or else they can be a bit… touchy. Anyone want ter try?"

Draco was not particularly surprised when Harry was the one chosen to greet a hippogriff first. Anything foolhardy or stupid, and you could guarantee that the overly noble Gryffindor would jump in head-first.

When Harry didn't get his head bitten off, and even managed to wrangle an unexpected flight out of his assigned beast, the rest of the students relaxed considerably. They began going up to different hippogriffs, bowing and waiting as Harry had demonstrated, and soon the clearing was filled with the bobbing heads of students and hippogriffs. The lesson might have finished well, if it hadn't been for Theodore Nott.

"This beast can't be too smart, if it respects Potter," he announced loudly, walking brashly towards the hippogriff named Buckbeak. Draco groaned inwardly.

It looked like Nott was determined to show that he was the new hotshot in Slytherin, and he was going to do it by imitating Draco's attitude toward Potter. Hardly an original or clever strategy, and very likely to backfire. Draco and Hagrid both lunged at Nott, Hagrid bellowing a warning, but it was too late.

There was a flash of sunlight off a curved beak, and then Nott's agonized cry rang out through the clearing. Buckbeak was raising his head for another strike, but Hagrid got to him first. He shooed away the hippogriff and scooped Nott up in his arms like a lost puppy.

"I'm bleeding!" Nott keened. "The monster bit me!"

"Yeh jus' startled him," Hagrid said, his face pale and worried. He placed Nott down gently. "Look, it's jus' a scratch."

Nott's face went purple with outrage, and he took a deep breath. Draco thought it was time to intervene, before Nott realized that he had a perfect opportunity to get Hagrid in trouble.

"Shut up, you sniveling worm!" he cried out, shouldering past Crabbe and Goyle. "You're embarrassing yourself. If you don't have the brains to listen to instructions, at least have the balls to take what comes like a man."

Nott spluttered incoherently. Draco's interference had completely taken the wind out of his sails.

"Professor," Draco said in his best Slytherin voice, quiet yet completely assured, "may I take Nott to the Hospital Wing? It looks like he just got a scratch, but it might be a good idea for Madame Pomfrey to take a look."

Hagrid gave him a look that was equal parts surprise and relief. "I reckon that's a good idea. Yeh do tha', Malfoy. The rest o' yeh, learn from this. Yeh don' treat hippogriffs like servants and get away with it."

Draco walked out of the Forest with Nott, pretending to support him, but really keeping a tight grip on the boy's shoulder and upper arm. When they got out of sight of the rest of the class, Theodore shook him off angrily.

"What the hell were you playing at?" he spat angrily. "You don't have power any more. You're an orphan, a beggar! You don't get to treat me like that!"

"Let me make something clear to you," Draco purred, leaning in close and grabbing the collar of Nott's robes. "Power isn't something you get from your daddy. It's not an allowance or a new pair of dragonhide gloves. If you want it, you have to _take_ it."

He released Nott's robes suddenly, making the weedy boy stumble. Nott glared at him and smoothed out his clothes. "I intend to," he declared. "Once my father hears I got injured in class, that oaf will be out on his ass. As for you, you'd better just stay out of my way. Challenge me in public like that again, and Vincent and Gregory will send you to the Hospital Wing."

"Let me teach you something I learned from my father," Draco said, feeling extremely scornful. "If something threatens your authority, deal with it yourself. Especially if you're new to that authority. I'll tell you something else, too. If you mention anything about this morning to your father, if Hagrid gets so much as a slap on the wrist, I'll go straight to the Minister of Magic and denounce you. Maybe _you _think the House of Malfoy is finished, but _he_ certainly doesn't. If I ask him, he'll stonewall your father's career faster than you can say Avada Kedavra. Got it?"

Nott's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Why are you defending that oaf? Did losing your parents turn you soft? What's next – protecting Muggles and blood traitors?"

Draco's wand was in his hand before he knew it. Nott stumbled back a step, shocked by the speed with which he'd reacted.

"I would be _very_ careful about what you say next," Draco whispered, furious that his Unbreakable Vow prevented him from actually hexing Theodore. "I'm not defending that oaf – I'm protecting the reputation of Slytherin House. Hufflepuffs are weak. Gryffindors are stupid. _We_ are neither. But what you did back in the clearing? That was both. If that story gets out, you become a laughingstock. I don't particularly care about that, but I _do_ care about our House's reputation. This is my last warning – if word about this class gets outside the school, I'll know who to blame."

The walk up to the Hospital Wing was carried out in stony silence. Draco knew as he left that he had made a new enemy.

_Then again,_ he reflected with a laugh,_ if the worst thing I have to worry about this year is Theodore Nott, I should consider myself blessed._

Later that day, after a satisfying supper in the Great Hall, Draco went to Snape's office for his private lesson. He produced the golden potion with a little flourish, and placed it on the Potion Master's desk.

"Felix Felicis," he announced, trying to sound bored instead of supremely pleased with himself. "Otherwise known as Liquid Luck."

Snape merely raised one eyebrow. "Correct. This potion is yours, Mr. Malfoy. Keep it close, and use it only when you have no better options. I assume you know its properties."

"Yes, sir," Draco replied. Magically manufactured luck – it sounded almost too good to be true, but if it was half as effective as the book in the library claimed, it would be an invaluable tool in a battle against a foe of superior skill.

_Do your worst, you snake-faced bastard, _Draco thought, imagining Orochimaru's burning yellow eyes. _This world has a few tricks you haven't seen yet._

"If you're done patting yourself on the back," Snape said drily, "perhaps we can move on. There is much to cover tonight, starting with the basics of Occlumency."

Draco put the vial of Liquid Luck back into his robes, and mentally resigned himself to another late night. After his meeting with Snape, he had one more important task to carry out, and he wasn't sure how long it would take.

It seemed that sleep was going to become a thing of the past. Well, no one had said that the life of a spy was going to be easy.

oOoOo

**Harry**

Thursday evening was the first meeting of the Gryffindor study group, and the beginning of Harry, Ron, and Hermione's plan to train their classmates. Hermione had passed word around to the girls, while Ron and Harry told everyone else. It would be the exact same group that had met last year to go over Sarutobi's homework assignments, with one addition: the youngest Weasley. Ginny had changed greatly since the episode with Riddle's diary – she was more confident and outspoken, and she attacked her studies with determination. It was actually Ron who suggested that they include Ginny in their group, although Harry and Hermione agreed instantly. Ginny had already come face-to-face with one Dark Lord, so in a way she had more experience than anyone there except Harry.

After dinner, everyone gathered in the Gryffindor Common room. They were lucky – except for them, the room was deserted. There was a good deal of chattering at first, but when Harry cleared his throat, silence fell immediately.

"Erm…" he began, embarrassed. "You know why we're here…"

"'Cause Umbridge is a fat toad," Fred and George chimed in. Harry laughed with the rest, feeling the tension lighten somewhat.

"No arguments here. Look, we've all had a few classes with her already, and it's clear she's not going to teach us anything useful."

A chorus of nods gave Harry a little more confidence. His audience was primed – he wasn't going to have to convince them that Umbridge was a disaster.

"Unfortunately, this year Hogwarts – all of us – well, we're in more danger than ever. If that were otherwise, I wouldn't care if Umbridge had us making daisy-chains all year, but it's true. There's a new Dark Lord on the rise, and he won't stop until he's enslaved all of wizardkind."

That got a rise out of them, as Harry had known it would. Fred, George, and Ginny were the only ones who took it in stride – after seeing the change in their parents' behavior that summer, they had probably guessed that something was very wrong with the Wizarding World. But Dean, Seamus, and Neville were raising their voices in shock, and Lavender and Parvati looked terrified.

"Shut up, the lot of you!" Ron bellowed, channeling Hagrid at his fiercest. "Listen to what Harry's got to say. _Then_ you can have a mental breakdown."

Harry nodded his thanks, and looked around at the circle of students. "Professor Sarutobi told me all of this, after the fight at the end of last year. Here's what really happened: this new Dark Lord sent one of his followers to distract the teachers while he tried to kill Dumbledore. Ron, Hermione and I helped the teachers fight, and… well, we got lucky."

He felt a phantom pain in his stomach and tried not to wince. Fawkes' tears had healed his stab wound without even a scar, but the memory of that searing pain resurfaced every now and again.

Hermione took up where he left off. "Dumbledore and Sarutobi fought off Orochimaru – that's his name, Orochimaru – but they couldn't defeat him. So as of last year, the Wizarding World is at war."

Neville raised his hand as if he were in class, his innocent face screwed up in concentration. "Why doesn't the Ministry believe Dumbledore? I mean, four teachers and the three of you fought Orochimaru's follower in the Great Hall – isn't that enough proof?"

Harry silently cursed Fudge for the umpteenth time. "You'd think, wouldn't you?"

But that question was more Hermione's style. She _shushed_ Harry with a wave of her hand. "The Minister doesn't think too clearly where Dumbledore is concerned," she said. "Fudge thinks Dumbledore broke out Sirius Black from Azkaban last year – remember the breakout? It was covered by the Daily Prophet. In any case, Fudge reckons that Dumbledore is using Sirius as a tool to gain power."

Dean Thomas scratched his head. "How's that? Not sure I follow you."

"Think about it this way. Let's say you let a lion loose in the streets. It kills dozens of people, and your government fails to kill it. Then you step in and kill the lion. Now the people love you more than the government. When you tell them you can protect them _better _than the government, they believe you, because you killed the lion when no one else could. Do you see? Fudge is terrified that by pretending that Sirius is some new Dark Lord, Dumbledore can make a bid to become Minister of Magic."

"Um…" Lavender said, her voice small and hesitant. "How do you know Sirius _isn't_ a this new Dark Lord? I mean, I don't think Dumbledore is making him a lion, or whatever, but how do you know Sirius wasn't behind the attack? No one's ever escaped from Azkaban before, and he murdered all those people…"

"Sirius is _innocent!_" Harry exclaimed, goaded into saying too much. Ron put a hand gently on his shoulder.

"Easy, mate," he whispered.

"Sirius isn't important," Hermione said, much more calmly than Harry would have been able to. "There _is_ a new Dark Lord, and it's _not_ Sirius. We have proof."

"Do you really?" Seamus demanded, a little belligerently because of his fear. "If I'm hearing you right, you never fought this bloke at all, just his follower. So really, the Dark Lord could be anyone. You've only got Dumbledore's word about this 'roachy-mara' guy."

Fred and George rounded on the Irish wizard, furious. "Since when has Dumbledore's word not been enough?" George demanded. Seamus shrank back from the heat in his tone.

Hermione spoke up before the twins took matters any further. "Actually, we've got more than that. _We_ didn't see Orochimaru, but we know someone who did. Someone we trust."

"Who?" Dean, Seamus, Lavender and Parvati all asked at once.

Harry held out a hand, gaining their attention once more. "Before we tell you, you have to swear that you won't tell _anyone_ what you're about to hear. We hope that you'll believe us, and that you'll allow us to train you for the coming war. But even if you think we're full of hippogriff dung, you have to swear that nothing you learn tonight leaves this common room. Otherwise you become our enemy, and we'll act accordingly. Got it?"

Eventually they all nodded agreement, some solemnly like Neville and Ginny, some fearfully. "We swear."

"That's good enough for us," Harry said. "You can come out now… Draco."

There was a slight ripple in the air in the middle of the circle, and then Draco Malfoy swept off Harry's Invisibility Cloak with a flourish. The blond Slytherin grinned, enjoying the gasps of shock. "Now I know how you dastardly Gryffindors kept getting the drop on me the last two years. Merlin's Bones, but this thing is useful…"

Fred and George traded chagrined glances. "It's a sorry day indeed when the Weasley twins are pranked by a Malfoy…"

"Too true, brother mine."

"Malfoy…" Dean said, his face a picture of confusion. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm here so that there can be no doubt about their story," Draco said, pointing to Harry and his teammates. "I've seen Orochimaru's face. He killed my mother in front of my eyes. He's the reason I'm an orphan now."

His tone, so matter-of-fact, rejected pity even as it left no doubt of his sincerity.

"If not for Dumbledore and Sarutobi," he went on, "I'd be worse than dead right now. Orochimaru would be wearing my body like a set of robes – he has magical powers that are stranger than Professor Sarutobi's, and darker."

After a moment of silence, in which the Gryffindors tried to come to grips with these revelations, Seamus ventured to comment. "I reckon if things are so bad that Potter and _Malfoy_ are teaming up… I'd better get on board."

No one disagreed.

"I've got to get back," Draco said, gathering up the Invisibility Cloak. "I know this is a lot to take in, but just remember what you're fighting for. Most of you still have your families. If you get strong enough, you just might be able to keep them."

He disappeared entirely, leaving behind a leaden, horrified silence.

"Hey, Malfoy," Ron said in a stage whisper, "you're gonna give that cloak back, you know!"

A disembodied voice came floating back: "Not a chance in hell, Weasel!"

Fred asked what was on everyone's mind. "So," he rubbed his hands together with anticipation, "when do we start?"

Harry grinned. "No time like the present," he said. "Let's head up to the Boys' Dormitory. Professor Sarutobi gave us a present that I think you all should see."

Just like that, the Gryffindor study group became the first members of the "Hogwarts Resistance," as the twins half-jokingly called their mission to practice combat magic under Umbridge's nose. That night Harry, Ron, and Hermione began drilling their classmates in the basic physical and magical exercises that Sarutobi had taught them. It hadn't even been a year since they were on the receiving end of these lessons, but it felt like a lifetime had gone by.

At first, Harry was worried that the pace would wear out the other students, or that fear of getting caught would discourage them. But his classmates were true Gryffindors, and the knowledge of what was waiting for them out in the world drove them to work hard, harder even than they might have believed they could.

They met for training every evening after dinner, making sure that no one was around to see them climbing the stairs to Sarutobi's trunk. There wasn't enough time to teach their classmates _everything_ that they had learned from Sarutobi, so Harry, Ron and Hermione focused on improving their fitness, precision casting, and repertoire of offensive and defensive spells. After the first week everyone was drained physically and magically, but their progress was evident and kept them motivated.

Seamus put it into words on the fifth day of training, after completing an obstacle course like the one Sirius had used to drill Harry and his friends at Grimmauld Place. "This is brilliant!" he exclaimed, as sweat dripped down his face. "I can actually tell I'm getting better!"

"Bloody right, mate," Dean said after blowing the head off of an animated Death Eater cutout. "I just wish that was Umbridge."

As happy as Harry was to finally begin helping his classmates learn how to defend themselves, he worried that they weren't progressing fast enough. After all, even with the other Gryffindors, their group only numbered eleven. That was a far cry better than three (or four including Draco), but it was hardly an army.

An army, of course, was what they needed, and it was exactly what Umbridge feared that Dumbledore was trying to create. But the more students they brought in, the greater the risk of exposure. It had been risky enough trusting their fellow Gryffindors.

But Hermione was working on that angle. Outside of teaching her classmates and sneaking off to the Shrieking Shack with Ron and Harry to train with Mad-Eye and Sirius, she spent long hours in the library crafting strategies to expand their training to include members of other Houses. Not only that, but she created study guides and sample essays to minimize the time that the Gryffindors needed to spend on homework, allowing them to train even more.

Harry had no clue how she was managing everything – it didn't seem like there were enough hours in the day for Hermione to do all of that. "Take it easy," he said to her one night. "You're no use to anyone if you wear yourself out."

"Trust me," Hermione said, her eyes glinting oddly. "It's all about efficient time management. You just worry about training, and let me worry about recruiting outside Gryffindor. I've got a few ideas, but it'll take a few more weeks before I'm sure."

Harry trusted Hermione, but he still asked Ron to keep an eye on Hermione. The protective Weasley would make sure that Hermione didn't exhaust herself.

Ron was also in his element as a budding strategist. The addition of eight more wizards and witches into their training sessions allowed him to test out new battlefield tactics that required more than three people. Once their classmates were familiar with basic combat spells like _Protego_, _Stupefy_, and _Expelliarmus_, he began putting them through larger-scale fights with five and six to a side, experimenting with different formations and combinations of spells.

Every day, Harry blessed Professor Sarutobi for giving them his trunk, which served as the perfect meeting place for the Gryffindors. As long as they met in Gryffindor Tower, they could train in secret with virtually no chance of discovery. In honor of Gryffindor's mascot, they began calling the trunk the Lion's Den. Slowly but surely, the grueling workouts transformed the eleven Gryffindors. They were becoming more than classmates and fellow conspirators – they were becoming a team.

A week after the first evening, the Weasley twins fulfilled their promise and showed him the fruits of their labors over the summer. "We decided to switch gears from pranking to military research and development," George explained, as Fred began unpacking labeled vials and wicked-looking gadgets from a giant carrying case. "We've got a few things we thought might come in handy."

Fred held out a leather pouch tied with a bit of twine. "This is a variant of Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder. We've worked out an enchantment that lets the caster see through it – sort of like Muggle night-vision goggles."

"We're working on a magic-dampening version," George added, "but we haven't quite got the trick of it yet."

"We've also got a decent variety of potions listed in St. Mungo's Guide to Magical Medicine. Blood-Replenishing potions-"

"-nerve regeneration-"

"-burn salve-"

"-and of course, the ever-popular Skele-gro."

"Blimey," Harry said, mightily impressed. "We've got our own Hospital Wing."

"Not quite, old boy," George said modestly, "but at least we'll be prepared in case of a scuffle. I just wish we'd been able to create a few more offensive options. It's devilishly tricky to mix poisons and the like… rather hard on the test subjects, don't you know."

Harry nodded, hoping that the twins hadn't learned that from experience… he didn't really want to know. But something George had said had given him an idea…

"You know, the two of you are already far beyond me in terms of potion and spell creation," Harry said thoughtfully. "But I think I know someone who could put your talents to their proper use."

"Really?" Fred asked, bouncing on his toes. "And who might that be?"

Harry grinned wickedly. "Let's put it this way… how long has it been since your last detention with Snape?"

The twins' faces fell as one. "Harry, you're not serious!"

"Of course not, he's my godfather," Harry quipped. "But I'm definitely in earnest. Make it happen."

Several days later, the entire school heard the story of the Weasley twins' latest prank. Apparently, during a double Potions session with fifth-year Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs, Fred and George cast a spell that made the smoke rising from their cauldron resolve into an image of Professor Snape in an improbable embrace with an Acromantula. Justin Finch-Fletchley told Harry during Herbology that Snape obliterated the smoke, and the Weasleys' cauldron along with it.

"Honestly, I thought he was going to hex them, too," Justin said in a hushed tone. "Instead, he only gave them detention every night until Christmas." Justin shuddered. "Can you imagine that? I'd rather get hexed."

_Nice one, you two, _Harry thought with satisfaction. It seemed the plan had worked out, and Professor Snape had two clever new apprentices. No one would ever believe that the Potions master was actually _teaching_ the Weasley twins – those detentions were the perfect cover.

A few days later, while training in the Lion's Den, Harry asked the twins how their detentions were going.

"Capital, really amazing," George said earnestly.

"Yeah," Fred chimed in, "we're learning loads. You should have seen Snape's expression when he realized we've been holding back all these years. After he finished tearing strips off us, he put us in charge of some particularly tricky potions that he's got brewing."

"The man's a genius," George said, "and believe me, those are words I never thought I'd say. Some of his latest potions are just about ready for the animal-testing phase. Wait until we perfect our souped-up version of the Draught of Strength!"

Harry suppressed a shiver, thinking about the horrors likely to result from the combined imaginations of Snape and the Weasley twins. Now _that_ was a combination likely to give even Orochimaru pause.

And so the first month of school passed. The days grew colder as summer gave way to fall. Dementors patrolled outside the school grounds and Umbridge prowled within. And high in Gryffindor Tower, eleven young witches and wizards trained for the coming war.

oOoOo

**Bill Weasley**

That morning, like most mornings since he'd accepted Orochimaru's tainted offer, Bill Weasley awoke feeling unclean and shrouded by evil. Not only was he trapped in a school dedicated to raising the next generation of Dark wizards, but Bill was forced to use his own training to further their monstrous growth. In another world Bill might have enjoyed teaching – Durmstrang students were not monsters, though they served one, and at times Bill even found himself enjoying watching them learn. But it was _what_ they were learning that disturbed him. Bill now spent his evening hours creating lesson plans to make deadly curses easier to understand and cast. He tutored students during his office hours on the finer points of torture and lingering poisons, and worse, he did it _well_.

Every day was a nightmare, but Bill had no choice. He could refuse to follow Orochimaru's orders and die a courageous death, but it wouldn't be _useful_. Orochimaru had dozens of adult Dark wizards working for him now – Bill saw them sometimes in the corridors, on their way to or from the Headmaster's chambers. Perhaps none of them had Bill's magical talent or familiarity with various types of curses, but any of them could teach children to use magic to kill. Bill's death would accomplish nothing, and he refused to accept that. So he persevered, but every day left its mark in agony upon his soul.

Today, at least, he had no classes to administer. "Headmaster Karkaroff" had declared a school-wide holiday, canceling all classes and organizing a dueling tournament that all the boys were allowed to attend. The duelists were his hand-picked lieutenants and the undisputed leaders of the school, the Eight Dragons. At the end of the day, only one would remain victorious.

Bill grimaced. There was no difference between today's spectacle and the gladiator matches of ancient Rome, except that those Muggle gladiators hadn't been riding dragons.

Bill met his brother Charlie at breakfast, and together they walked down to the Quidditch pitch. Boys ranging in age from eleven to eighteen milled around chaotically, chattering and placing bets on the upcoming tournament.

"It's going to be a bloody mess," Charlie said angrily to Bill, as they made their way towards an empty row of bleachers in the back. "Those damn kids are too eager for their own good, and the dragons are worse. I wouldn't be surprised if half of them ended up losing an arm, or worse."

"I guess we'll see," Bill said, distracted by the sight of a few familiar faces in the bleachers across the pitch. They were deathly pale, and when they smiled, sun glittered off of fangs. "The vampires don't seem to mind staying at Durmstrang anymore," he commented.

"They wouldn't," Charlie agreed bitterly. "Not with the amount of wizard blood they're receiving from the Headmaster. The longer this goes on, the stronger they'll get. Give it enough time, and they'll worship him."

The stadium filled up before their eyes, and soon enough it was time for the tournament to begin.

There arose hundreds of shouts from the crowd, as two dragons emerged from the mouth of the tunnel down at the end of the pitch. Two teens were perched on saddles resting between the dragons' necks and their wings. One was the Head Boy, Mikhail, whose Welsh Green was now the size of a large horse. The other boy, Boris Poliakoff, rode a Ukrainian Ironbelly that was bigger than a house. The dragons roared in challenge, momentarily drowning out the crowd. The boys raised their wands in salute to the Headmaster, who stood next to a group of vampires. His voice echoed throughout the pitch, carried by a Sound Amplification charm.

"It is good to see you all today, taking a well-deserved break from your studies. As you watch your classmates in the stadium, pay close attention. They are your elders, but they are also your brothers-in-arms. If you work hard, one day it might be _you_ riding a dragon for the glory of Durmstrang. Let the tournament… _begin!_"

As the dragons took flight and bright jets of light erupted from the boys' wands, Charlie leaned in close to whisper to Bill.

"Two boys came to my office a few nights ago. One of them was the leader of the Dragon Corps – Viktor Krum. The other is the boy riding the Ironbelly. They guessed I wasn't serving Orochimaru willingly. Said they were forced into swearing the Vow, too."

Bill tried not to stare too openly at his brother. "They said that?" he whispered. "What did you tell them?"

"What do you think?" Charlie asked scornfully. "I told them it was none of their business why I served Orochimaru, and if they came to me again I'd report them. But don't you get it, Bill? If they were telling the truth, then we're not the only ones capable of fighting back! They could be useful when we try to esca-"

Bill kicked Charlie hard in the shin. "Don't say that!" he hissed. "We have no plans to escape, do you hear me? _None!_ Orochimaru has us right where he wants us, and there's nothing we can do to change that right now. Got it?"

"No," said Charlie, every bit as mad as Bill. "I _refuse_ to lie down and take this. If there's a way out of this nightmare, I'm going to find it. What's the worst that can happen? He'll kill me? It would be a blessing, compared to the hell I'm living now."

"You know that's not the worst that can happen!" Bill reminded Charlie, willing his hotheaded brother to see sense. "He could kill our family – Ginny, Mum, Ron, and everyone else. We can bear this for their sake. We _have_ to bear this."

Charlie seemed to shrink in upon himself, his eyes haunted and older than his years. "I know that. But I keep asking myself: if I sell my soul to keep my family safe, am I any less damned? Innocent people are going to die, Bill. They're going to burn to death, torched by dragons that _I_ helped raise. I don't know if I can live with that. Not even for our family's sake."

"I know," said Bill. "I carry that same guilt. But as long as we're alive, we can hope that something will change. Dumbledore and Sarutobi know about Orochimaru. They were marshaling the Order of the Phoenix months before we were taken, and now that I haven't checked in, the Order will know I'm gone. You have to trust me, Charlie – the best thing we can do now is wait, and hope that good can triumph over evil. When the Order finds us, we'll be ready. When we die, let's make bloody sure that our deaths _mean_ something."

Charlie looked at him for a few long seconds, a touch of wonder in his eyes. "That's why you agreed to Orochimaru's bargain," he breathed. "You knew the Order would come."

"I hope," Bill corrected him gently. "But it's a reasonable hope, given that I was in communication with the Order for several months. It may take awhile, but they'll find Orochimaru."

Charlie smiled, and it was like watching the sun break through the clouds. "And we'll be waiting when they do."

Charlie fell silent after that, and watched the tournament with much higher spirits. Bill, watching him, felt bad for lying his brother.

Sure, it was always possible that the Order would find them. But Bill was not prepared to wait for that day. He had only told Charlie that because if Orochimaru ever used his Legilimency to probe Charlie's thoughts, he would think that the Weasley brothers were content to wait.

Bill, however, had something more proactive in mind. It wasn't going to be easy, of course. But every night, Bill made a little more progress unraveling the magic that bound him to Orochimaru's will. Sometimes it felt like swimming against the tide, and others like trying to grasp strings slippery with grease, but every night he tried anew.

Success, Bill knew, was not likely. There had _never_, as far as he knew, been a witch or wizard who managed to break free of the Unbreakable Vow. But Bill also believed in the basic tenet of the Curse-Breaker, that no spell was flawless. Maybe it was set in stone, but that just meant you had to find the right chisel.

Protected by his Occlumency and Charlie's ignorance, Bill would do something that no wizard had ever done before. Once the Unbreakable Vow was shattered and its hold on him broken, Bill would wait. He would wait patiently until the right moment made itself known to him. And then he would fight, drawing on every ounce of his cunning and the full fury of his righteous soul.

Down in the arena below, a well-aimed Stunner caught Mikhail by surprise, and he slumped over in his saddle. Poliakoff's dragon, Ivan, screamed his victory to the skies, as the Welsh Green brought his rider to the ground. The stands reverberated with the cheers and shouts of students, and Bill yelled right along with them.

oOoOo

**A/N: **That's the end of this chapter, but I've included a little something that I promised you all long ago: the one-shot with news from Konoha. I've been going back and forth about where I want that story line to go, but I believe that I've finally figured it out. Before you get too excited, I will NOT be starting this as a new story until after I've finished Professor's Journey. This is just a first taste, to thank all of you who have taken the time and effort to review. This story only lives because of you – bless you, one and all, for encouraging me to work harder and write more. This one-shot is for you.

**Konoha - Two Weeks After the Invasion**

Training Area 44, otherwise known as the Forest of Death, was not very popular among the shinobi of Konoha. It was dark and gloomy, and filled with poisonous insects – the weaker chuunin didn't want to risk an embarrassing death, and the stronger ones figured there were more cheerful places to train. Sometimes members of the Aburame clan went there for research purposes, and every now and again a foraging team went searching for rare compounds to make medicines and poisons, but for the most part, it was possible to spend days in the forest and never see another living soul.

That made it the perfect training ground for Uchiha Sasuke. In the weeks following the failed Invasion of Konoha, the lone Uchiha retreated even more from the rest of the world. Sakura tried to follow him a few times, but a few harsh words were generally enough to send her running. Naruto would have been harder to shake off, but the village outcast had done the unthinkable, and vanished from Konoha over a week ago. Naruto had harbored a deep reservoir of guilt after collapsing the barrier – he felt responsible for killing the Third Hokage, even if Kakashi and Jiraiya talked themselves hoarse trying to convince him otherwise. Sasuke had no idea where Naruto was now, though he was willing to bet that his teammate wouldn't make it very far before running into some kind of trouble or other.

So while search parties looked for Naruto and the high-ranking shinobi of Konoha met behind closed doors to decide the future of the village, Sasuke was pushing himself to his limits in the forest. A black mood had descended upon him after the Invasion, and with each new dawn his thoughts turned darker, bleaker. Pushing himself beyond the point of exhaustion helped a little by numbing his mind, but it never worked for long.

Sasuke knew what the problem was, although at first he didn't want to admit it. But training for days in perfect solitude had a way of making you realize when you were lying to yourself. Sasuke was angry, despairing, depressed, and he knew why: Orochimaru, the Snake Sannin, was dead.

It was almost funny – the village rejoiced after fighting off the combined forces of Suna and Oto, and they mourned the loss of their beloved Hokage. Sasuke, on the other hand, mourned the loss of the man responsible for Sarutobi's death. The Snake Sannin had given Sasuke a taste of power with his Curse Seal, and Sasuke hungered for more.

Itachi was out there somewhere, no doubt still growing in power, and no one but Sasuke even knew, let alone cared. This stupid village wanted to turn him into a symbol – the last Uchiha, top of his class, wielding his sharingan in service of Konoha. But a symbol was a tool, and a tool couldn't kill Itachi.

Sasuke needed more, he needed to get stronger _now_, not when his superiors told him it was safe. Orochimaru had offered him that opportunity, and although Sasuke hadn't made his decision then, he realized too late that deep down, he had always meant to go with the Sannin. He would cast aside Konoha like an old overcoat, and become what he was always meant to be: an avenger.

It would have been the perfect plan, if Naruto hadn't collapsed that barrier and crushed both Orochimaru and Sarutobi like a couple of bugs. Sasuke snorted. Typical Naruto, rushing in and making Sasuke's life difficult.

Of course, Sasuke didn't feel all that angry with Naruto. If Orochimaru could get taken out by the dead last so easily – obliterated by his _own barrier_, in fact! – then maybe he wouldn't have been able to teach Sasuke enough to take on Itachi anyway.

But now it seemed like Sasuke was out of options. He could train all he wanted in this Kami-forsaken forest, and it wouldn't make the slightest bit of difference. He needed to find someone truly strong, someone who could give him a challenge that would force him to grow, give him an edge hard enough and strong enough to face his brother.

If he stayed in Konoha, he thought he might go insane. Likely Team 7 would go back to doing C-rank missions, until Kakashi thought that they had "recovered" from the ordeal of the Invasions. Like Sasuke even cared about that!

No, Sasuke couldn't stay here. It wasn't ideal, but unless he could think of something better, he was going to have to-

_Thwack!_

Sasuke had ducked just in time, and the kunai aiming for his head instead buried itself hilt-deep in the trunk of the tree behind him. His instincts took over and he kicked away from the ground, scanning his surroundings with his sharingan. To his shock, there were at least a dozen chakra signatures belonging to shinobi concealed in the surrounding trees – how could he _possibly_ have failed to sense them approaching? Whoever these assailants were, they must be strong.

Sasuke sent a barrage of fireballs towards his enemies' hiding places, using the fire to hide shuriken connected to wires that he held in his hands. It had been useful against Orochimaru, so maybe it would work again. But he never had the chance to find out.

Two of the shinobi activated Water Release techniques that turned his flames into dozens of hissing gouts of steam. It seemed his assailants had been warned about his skill with ninja wire, because they brought out kunai with oversized, hooked blades. Sasuke had to drop his wires or get pulled off balance in twelve directions.

Sasuke snorted with annoyance. These cowards didn't have the guts to close with him – instead they buzzed around like mosquitoes. He would show them the error of their ways. A bright chirping filled the air as he shaped his chakra to perform Chidori. He was much better with this technique than he had been during his fight with Gaara – he could perform more of them in a row now, while using his sharingan eye to avoid counterattacks.

No sooner had he completed the technique, than his opponents jumped farther away. He was about to give chase, when another shinobi came through the trees, flying on a creature that couldn't possibly be alive – was it made of _ink?_

The shinobi, who was pale and had short hair as black as Sasuke's, unrolled a scroll that virtually exploded with tiny creatures. They were all made of ink, and every one of them went for Sasuke like a bull seeing red. He cut them down by the dozens, his chidori turning the creatures into harmless blobs of ink, but there were always more.

Sasuke fought his way free and deactivated the technique. He couldn't afford to waste any more chakra on these manufactured beasts. It was time for some more fire.

"Stop!" A deep, commanding voice rang out in the Forest. Sasuke's opponents came to attention, and the pale shinobi flying in the treetops brought his bird down to ground level. He rolled up his scroll, ending the avalanche of ink creatures.

From out of the shadows emerged an old man, his right eye and the whole of his right arm swathed in bandages. He walked with a cane and appeared frail, but his voice and the glint in his one uncovered eye spoke of power.

"Danzo?" Sasuke exclaimed. He recognized the elder from Konoha's Bingo Book, but he had never met the man. Certainly he didn't remember doing anything that would motivate one of Konoha's elders to have him killed.

"You know me," Danzo rumbled, as his silent assassins gathered behind him. "That's good. I hate wasting time."

"Any reason why you're trying to kill me?" Sasuke demanded, his heart racing. He could probably handle an old man, but those thirteen minions were another question… especially the one who could create ink monsters. He was watching Sasuke with an expression that was utterly blank, yet somehow managed to convey amusement. He was dangerous.

"If I wanted to kill you, you would be dead," Danzo snapped, and Sasuke jerked upright. Danzo no longer leaned on his cane, and his posture was different. Sasuke revised his threat assessment right away – Danzo was not just any old man, that was sure. "No, Sasuke, this was simply to make a point. My shinobi are quite skilled, yes? Perhaps you could have defeated them all, but the fact that they even gave you a moment's pause tells the true story: you are weak."

"Watch it, old man," Sasuke sneered. "I was just having some fun. I could have killed them any time I wanted."

"Even if that were true, it would only mark you as foolish," Danzo said, sounding disappointed. "A true shinobi kills swiftly, without remorse. I would have thought that you, of all people, would know this."

"What do you mean, me of all people?" Sasuke demanded.

Danzo shrugged. "You are the brother of Itachi, are you not? Do you imagine that he would have toyed with these shinobi? They would have been dead before they even laid eyes on him."

Sasuke froze. "What do _you_ know of Itachi?"

Danzo's eye held his gaze, unblinking. "More than you can imagine. Sasuke, my people have kept a close watch on you, though you knew it not. I know, for example, that you do not believe that Konoha can teach you anything. That is false. There is much here for you to learn… much I can give you."

"If these fools are the best you've got," Sasuke said with as much scorn as he could muster, "I think I'm better off on my own."

"Is that so?" Danzo asked, amused. "So there's nothing I have that you want… not even the secrets of the sharingan?"

Then, to Sasuke's utter shock, Danzo unwrapped the bandage covering his right eye, revealing a pupil-less orb of red and black.

"How… how did you get that?" Sasuke stammered.

"Konoha suffered a tragic loss the night of the massacre," Danzo answered calmly. "I did my best to ensure that the legacy of the Uchiha would not disappear entirely. Do not be a fool, Sasuke. I can make you stronger, help you unlock the true ability of your sharingan prepare you to face Itachi. Come to me. It is your destiny."

"Say I do," Sasuke said after a moment's pause. "What do you get out of this deal?"

"A greater chance of peace for Konoha," Danzo replied immediately. "Your revenge and Konoha's security both rely on the same thing: Uchiha Itachi's death. So what do you say?"

There was really nothing more to consider. If Danzo knew anything about the deeper secrets of the sharingan, anything at all, it was worth Sasuke's time. He would walk down this road, and perhaps with Danzo's help, he would reach Itachi that much sooner.

"I'm with you," Sasuke said at last, "until I think you have nothing more to teach me."

Danzo stamped the butt of his cane on the forest floor. "So be it. First, you will have to disappear. Perhaps leave a note saying that you are leaving the village to bring Naruto back – after your missions together, no one will find that hard to believe. As far as the rest of the world is concerned, you're missing in action, absent without leave. You will become a ghost, and then your training will truly begin."

"You'd better not disappoint me, old man. One sharingan doesn't make you an expert – Kakashi was my teacher, but he can't even hold a candle to Itachi."

"I assure you, I have a few more tricks up my sleeve. Oh, and Sasuke…" the old man grinned, and his sharingan eye whirled disconcertingly. "Welcome to Root."


End file.
